


soar

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Rock climber Keith, VLD NSFW Big Bang 2018, energy drink au, pov switching, rope play, snowboarder fuckboy shiro, sports AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: The hand shifts, reaching upward as the shot widens to reveal a man scaling the side of a steep cliff. He’s long and lean, compactly muscled and wiry in the way that someone who lifts their own body weight on a daily basis tends to be. His shoulders are tanned from the summer sun, black hair whipping wildly around his face as he scales the rocks with nothing more than his own two hands and a determined set to his jaw.He’s All-American wet dream pretty, and Shiro is struck dumb.The camera drone flies further and further away, revealing an endless landscape of gulches and gorges, bright blue sky overhead. The Voltron logo appears, a professional voice-over marking the end of the commercial spot.“Voltron makes you soar!”voltron is the energy drink that makes you soar! with a bevy of famous athletes under the company’s sponsorship, what will happen once a new rock climber is added to the lineup?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here is my piece for this year's vld nsfw big bang!  
> it was a long road to finish this, but i'm so glad we're here!
> 
> a huge thanks goes out to two very important folks:  
> first, my wonderful artist [anidragon](http://anidragon.tumblr.com/)! you'll see the art she provided in later chapters. i was blessed to be the reason she drew her first wiener, and that's amazing, tbh.  
> second, my endlessly patient and helpful beta, [my1alias](https://my1aliasnsfw.tumblr.com/)! the care and help she gave me in directing my scattered thoughts and random continuity errors was so helpful and appreciated.  
> please go check them both out!
> 
> as always, you can find me over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) and on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_tootsonnewts) if you'd like!
> 
> without further ado, have some sports (kinda)!

It’s funny how every conference hall in existence looks like every  _ other _ conference hall in existence. The thought distracts Shiro as he traces the finger of his prosthetic absentmindedly around the rim of his glass. It’s also funny how often they have to get together for these things. What’s worse is the fact that they have to get all dressed up every single time. They’re dumbass athletes promoting an energy drink; they really shouldn’t be expected to be anything other than what they are. Looking down at the beat up Vans he paired with his slacks and button-up, Shiro feels a bit vindicated by his tiny rebellion. Even if he does look damn good either way. Which he does, in his humble opinion.

Still, he has to pay the bills, and this is as good of a life as he can ever imagine having. Doing his favorite thing while being generously sponsored in exchange for recording brief commercials and being paraded around like a prized show pony every now and again? That’s the dream. Shiro can sacrifice his personal style for a few hours to get that chance.

The lights in the room dim and Matt appears at his elbow.

“I’ve seen it already. It’s good as hell,” he whispers, elbowing Shiro in the side. “You look badass.”

“Fantastic,” Shiro deadpans. “I can’t wait.”

A pulsing rock beat blares out over the speakers circling the room, a projection screen descending from the ceiling. Guitars wail and cymbals crash, and the picture cuts in.

The screen starts out black, but quickly lights up as the bottom of a snowboard comes into focus, passing directly over the camera’s lens. Sparkling white powder whips off the tail, cutting sharp three-sixties as Shiro expertly maneuvers his body around, gloved hand gripped firmly on the edge of the board.

Matt whoops loudly from beside Shiro and he has to smother the urge to slap his free hand over the other man’s mouth. 

The commercial continues, Shiro’s board completing its pass, throwing an excess of snow back across the screen, which melts out into a white froth of foamy seawater crashing at the edge of a wave. Hunk barrels right down the middle of a pipeline, his surfboard cutting smoothly through the water’s surface as he balances easily atop the waxed surface. He stoops low as he passes the camera, flashing a shaka and brilliant smile while his body whizzes by. 

Hunk splashes the camera with crystal waters, shimmering bright against the yellow surface of his board. The camera pans out from the sunny color, revealing the bright yellow and green fabric of a backpack releasing a parachute, Pidge dangling from its strings. She’s descending from an abandoned skyscraper somewhere at the edge of the world. Her nose is pink as she hollers in joy.

Shiro cuts a glance at Matt next to him, finding him beaming in pride at his baby sister’s latest stunt. Birds of a feather, those two. He wouldn’t be surprised if Matt was somewhere on top of the building she leapt from.

Up on screen, Pidge swoops wildly as she guides herself toward the ground. Her foot flies past an expertly mounted camera that’s obviously zooming atop a car as it chases her down, and as the sole of her shoe passes, it morphs to a slightly larger size. The camera pans back out to reveal Lance perched on his metallic blue Trek as he throws his feet back on the pedals (the man cheers for himself from somewhere toward the front of the hall), and twists his body into a spin. He drops his front tire on a high slope of dirt, gliding easily down the hill toward a camera mounted at the bottom. A spray of mud and dirt paints the camera, and a cameraman raises a bright white cloth, wiping it across the screen.

The motion earns a chuckle from the room which quickly dissipates as the cloth draws away to reveal a laughing Allura as she skis away, having just sprayed the camera crew with fresh mountain powder. The video follows her as she descends the slope with grace and ease, turning around to flash a bright thumbs up from the bottom. The camera cruises down her path, speeding up in increments until everything blurs and blends together as it approaches her eyes, squinted in glee.

Finally, the camera stops, tight in on a new set of squinting eyes. It pans out slowly, revealing someone fresh, someone Shiro has never seen before. The squint of the eyes softens, a fingerless-gloved hand raising to shield them from the light. As the eyes relax, they reveal vibrant blue irises, verging on purple as they sparkle bright under the heat of a desert sun. The hand shifts, reaching upward as the shot widens to reveal a man scaling the side of a steep cliff. He’s long and lean, compactly muscled and wiry in the way that someone who lifts their own body weight on a daily basis tends to be. His shoulders are tanned from the summer sun, black hair whipping wildly around his face as he scales the rocks with nothing more than his own two hands and a determined set to his jaw.

He’s All-American wet dream pretty, and Shiro is struck dumb.

The camera drone flies further and further away, revealing an endless landscape of gulches and gorges, bright blue sky overhead. The Voltron logo appears, a professional voice-over marking the end of the commercial spot.

“Voltron makes you soar!”

The picture fades out, the speaker volume lowering as the lights raise, and the director of the company’s athletic branch appears on stage to give a speech about athleticism and energy and how energy drinks are proud sponsors of athleticism-something-something, athletes or whatever, it really doesn’t matter. What  _ does _ matter to Shiro — the most pressing matter — is who in the hell that guy was.

“Matt,” Shiro mutters, poking his longtime manager and best friend in the shoulder. “Who was that?”

Matt turns to him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his face. “Why, whoever are you talking about, my dearest Takashi?”

“Holt,” Shiro sighs. “You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

“Oh, you mean pretty boy mountain scaler? Leather gloves McGee? The mayor of grumpy town?”

“He didn’t look grumpy to me.”

“Yeah, well, love at first sight’ll do that to ya.”

“C’mon, man. It’s not like that. I just wanna know who the new guy is.”

Matt stares at him for a moment, face set to stun. It nearly works. Shiro finds himself considering a quick getaway before Matt takes pity on him.

“His name’s Kogane. Keith Kogane. Fresh on the circuit. Well, he’s been at it for a few years, but he just started gaining steam. Voltron snapped him up for a sponsorship after he won a few climbing comps and had some videos go viral. Him just...climbing shit. You know how it is.”

Shiro doesn’t know how it is.

“Is he here?”

He almost slaps himself for not controlling his damn mouth. Matt’s smirk grows wider.

“Yeah, of course he is. Contract and all. Want me to find him? He’s not hard to spot.”

Shiro tells himself he just wants to meet the new kid on the block. He just wants to introduce himself to his new teammate. Make a good impression. Offer to help show him the ropes, tell him all about everyone on the team, offer tips for dealing with team management.

That’s all. Really.

“Nah, you don’t need to do that. I’m sure I’ll see him soon enough.”

“See who soon enough?” a new voice asks from behind Shiro. Matt’s smile is blinding as he shoves Shiro out of the way to scoop his sister up in a hug.

“You looked so good in that shot, kid!”

Pidge tries to smother her smile as she pushes him away.

“I’m literally twenty-three. Not a kid.”

“Keep telling yourself that, kid,” Matt says, patting her head.

“Whatever, shitbreath. Answer my question. Who are we seeing?”

“Our favorite fuckboy over here wants to meet Keith.”

Pidge tosses a calculating look Shiro’s way before grabbing his hand and dragging him through the throng. They give brief hellos and answer quick questions politely as they go, but Pidge is clearly on a mission, refusing to allow them to be stopped along their way.

Eventually, she gets Shiro to the other side of the hall, turning to face him seriously.

“I’ve known Keith for a long time. We met in college in freshman year. He takes some work at first, but he’s a really good guy.”

Shiro doesn’t mind some work. Shiro loves work. Shiro is a hard worker by nature. Not that it matters. He’s not trying to work for anything.

Pidge drags him to a corner of the room where only a few people mill about. There, seated alone at a large, round table, sits Keith. Under the dim lights of the conference hall, he looks almost unremarkable. He seems completely bored, flipping through his cell phone absently until Pidge pulls Shiro up to him, knocking her little fist against the tabletop.

“Hey, asshole, I want you to meet someone.” 

Keith looks up and the room shrinks. His eyes are just as striking in person, his body just as intriguing. He’s a shade off of messy, his hair unruly and barely in place, a deep red button-up stretched tauntingly across his frame.

“This is Shiro,” Pidge announces, shoving Shiro forward. “Say hi, Shiro.”

“Hi,” Shiro says.  _ Nailed it.  _

“Hello,” Keith responds smoothly. “You’re the boarder. I saw your highlight reel.”

Shiro tries not to preen. Keith lifts his sharp chin in the air. It’s almost arrogant, but on him, the motion just seems natural. Like he was born with an air of offhanded confidence. It’s woven into his skin, pattern cut from his DNA.

“You climb good,” Shiro says haltingly. 

_ What the fuck. _ Look, Shiro is a good looking guy. He knows he is. He’s been with enough people to know how to conduct himself around someone he finds attractive. If only his mouth would get with the program. Keith lifts an eyebrow at Shiro’s terrible compliment. It’s well deserved, honestly.

“You board good,” he answers with a smirk.

Shiro does preen at that one, mocking as it is. He knows his smile is bordering dangerously on deranged, but he simply cannot control himself. Keith is beautiful. He’s a dream. He’s so pretty and rugged and  _ small.  _ Shiro didn’t even know he had a thing for small until just now. But here he is. Having it.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you,” Keith continues, “but I gotta get going. Talk to you soon, Katie.”

He shoves away from the table and makes his way toward the doorway.

“See ya, Keith!” she shouts at his back. In a rare show of magnanimity, she stays quiet until Keith is fully out of both eye and earshot. Once he is, she turns the full weight of her disappointed stare on Shiro. “Really, dude? ‘You climb good’? Who even  _ are _ you?”

“Dying, that’s who.”

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” she snorts. “You better shove that tongue back in your mouth before it becomes a problem.”

“It’s not gonna be a problem.”

“Whatever you say. How’s the arm?”

Shiro flexes a metallic fist, curling each finger individually. He imagines those fingers curled around a freckled shoulder.

“‘S good.”

Pidge narrows her eyes at him.

“Gross. Let Matt know if dad needs to look at it soon.”

“I will, Katie.”

She scoffs up at him. “And, look. Not that I want to talk about it, because I  _ super  _ don’t, but can I give you a little advice?”

Shiro doesn’t answer, just nods for her to continue.

“Keith is worth more than I think you’re thinking. If you plan on doing what you normally do”—she tugs him down to eye level by his collar, narrowing her eyes threateningly—”don’t.”

Shiro goes home alone for the first time in a long stretch and immediately follows Keith on every form of social media he can find. Which isn’t weird or creepy. It only makes sense to add your new teammate on any and every platform available. 

Everybody does it.

 

+++

 

It’s admirable how long he takes to send the first message, in his opinion.

Precisely two weeks after the premiere banquet, Shiro returns home from the gym in a rush of sweat and hormones. Keith isn’t entirely active on any of his accounts these days, if he ever really was. Typically, he posts whatever promo material he’s contractually obligated to post and that’s about it. Maybe, if the public is lucky, he’ll post an obscure personal photo. A landscape here, a shining red motorcycle in the sun there. It’s all very aesthetic in a way that only adds to his charm and mystique.

Today was different.

Today, half of Team Voltron was gathered in California for a press event. Keith, Allura, Pidge, and Matt were all in attendance as a new leg of the Voltron advertisement campaign was launched, available for interviews and autographs (and unneeded moral support on Matt’s end). Whenever that happens, the team is asked to post pictures and thoughts from the event to help drum up interest and curiosity. This event was Keith’s first public outing as a member of Team Voltron.

Shiro stares down at the photo that’s been haunting him all day. It went up three hours ago, tucked into Keith’s feed like it was no big deal. When Shiro opened the notification in the gym, he nearly fell over the weight rack in his haste to double tap.

It’s an innocuous sort of thing, a quick, thoughtless selfie. The important detail is that it’s a photo of Keith smiling. Shiro’s never seen Keith smile before, and it turns out that’s a new kink he may need to explore. The picture shows Keith, up close to the camera, with Pidge and Matt flexing dramatically in the background behind him. His eyes are big and bright, the skin crinkling just so at their corners. His nose scrunches just the tiniest bit, and one of his canines catches his lower lip. It shouldn’t be adorable. It really shouldn’t. But it _is._

Shiro’s tried so hard to play it cool. 

He wants to meet him again, just to see if he can manage to rub two brain cells together and squeeze a coherent sentence out of his dumb mouth before admitting defeat.

Instead, he chooses to send Keith a dm.

_ hey there. i saw u went to the presser today. nice. _

Smooth. He’s got this in the bag.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a strange thing to have someone offer you money to do a thing you’ve always done for free.

Maybe that’s his upbringing talking, but it still confuses Keith to think about the things companies are willing to dish out cash for. Because if you think about it, they’re all literally writing checks for people to do their hobbies for a living. Still, he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The lobby of the Voltron corporate office is cold, oppressively so. Keith remembers the quick rundown Kolivan gave him when he told him about the meeting.

_“Don’t fidget. Be confident. Don’t be an ass. I know that’s difficult for you, but please do try. They already know what you can do. They want to give you more money than is truly sensible. Please, please give them the opportunity to do so. If you get annoyed, think of Krolia and how proud she will be when you sign your contract.”_

Using his mother was a low blow, albeit an effective one. Keith crosses his ankles and resists the urge to tug at the tie wrapped around his neck. The business wear felt like an over the top choice to him, but Kolivan insisted, and Keith is hard-pressed to defy his mentor.

Time drags by, and with every second, the collar of his dress shirt feels tighter and tighter around his neck. There’s a large screen television mounted to the wall, playing an infinite loop of Voltron ads, an alternating cycle of commercials for the drink, commercials for their sports team, and interviews with their athletes. Keith hones in on Pidge’s face as the tail end of a tv spot featuring one of her jumps is shown. He smiles to himself as he watches her plummet toward the ground. He can’t help but think that this meeting is probably partially thanks to her influence. When he had called to tell her about it, she didn’t sound at all surprised as she congratulated him. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, but he can connect the dots.

The first full interview he watches is with a jovial, burly guy named Hunk. He’s a surfer, according to the title card under his face. He’s loud in a friendly way, expressive and warm. Keith thinks they would get along just fine if they were ever caught in the same room. He’s still not entirely sure how exactly these team sponsor things work.

After the interview follows a commercial in which a cartoon mailman drinks a Voltron and rockets to the moon to get away from a chasing pack of animated pitbulls. Keith thinks it rather uncharitable toward the breed, but he doesn’t really get a say in it, he supposes.

After that, a television spot plays detailing the several assorted extreme sports the brand takes under their wing. This spot focuses on winter sports, showing off a gorgeous skier named Allura and an even more gorgeous snowboarder named Shiro. They’re both champions, otherworldly in their presence, and terrifyingly skilled in their sports if the commercial is anything to go by.

The ad fades into an interview with the two of them as they stand next to each other laughing warmly.

Allura smiles like a princess as she answers a question about her favorite part of winter ( _“Everything just glimmers in the snow. It’s like the world is coated in glitter.”_ ). For his part, Shiro looks just as much the part of a prince. His face is perfectly built, all high cheekbones and sharply angled jaw. There’s a rugged scar across his nose that only lends him more appeal. The bleached chunk of hair at the front of his head seems a little much, but Keith rocks a literal fashion mullet, so he can’t really judge. His right arm is a prosthetic, a model similar to the ones Katie’s father works with, and that sets Keith to wondering about their possible degrees of separation.

It’s when Shiro speaks that Keith realizes he may have a problem.

The interviewer asks what he likes the most about boarding for Voltron, and without skipping a beat, he launches into an answer about freedom and ideals and matching philosophies. The important part to Keith is his voice. It’s deep and rolling like thunder and hits him hard in the gut. He’s smooth in his delivery, each word feeling thought out and calculated for maximum effect. Keith isn’t sure if he likes that part or not, but he can’t deny that the guy has a commanding presence about him.

That presence clings to his brainstem as he sits through the meeting with several Voltron execs while they try their best to sell him on the brand. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them he had already planned on signing the contract before he ever even arrived to the office. There were way too many zeros on the offer to decline, and even if he’s not a huge fan of the higher level of accessibility to the public he’ll have to maintain as a caveat, he’d be stupid to decline.

Halfway through their conversation, one of the execs gives him a rundown of the team, and explains how he’ll fit in.

“Have you ever been a member of a sponsored team before, Keith?” Lotor asks innocently. It’s false; Keith knows they’re aware that he’s never been offered any real money for what he does aside from the prize money he’s won at open comps. Kolivan’s warning floats through his mind as he grits his teeth and offers his best fake smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, then, allow me to go through it for you. Since you’ll be a member of the team, there will be certain requirements we’ll have for you. For instance, you’ll need to meet and become acquainted with your teammates. You’re each the only athlete of your sport we currently sponsor, but that doesn’t mean we’ll never consider branching out.”

Lotor pauses for dramatic effect, and Keith can read between the lines. _Keep with the program or you’re out._ He nods his head to acknowledge that he’s picking up what Lotor’s putting down. It’s not a necessary point to make, but he gets it. Business is business.

“And so,” Lotor continues, “since you’re each something of a...crown jewel for us, we like for our athletes to be friendly and support each other, not only at public events, but through more intimate channels as well.”

“Intimate?” Keith parrots quietly. What could they possibly want from him besides making the occasional appearance and signing some autographs?

“Relax, Keith,” Lotor chuckles. “I suppose I could have worded that better. What we mean is that, aside from attending gatherings and sporting events, we like for you all to interact on social media and in interviews as well. It gives the team the appearance of solidarity, and it reminds the public that sports other than their personal favorite exist. A win-win for everyone, really.”

That doesn’t really sound like a win-win. In fact, it sounds like the complete opposite of a win-win. Keith is terrible at interacting in person. He can’t imagine having to do so through a computer or cellphone. Still, he needs the cash. He wants to keep climbing for as long as possible, but it’s an expensive sport. A sharp jaw and stupid hair flash through his mind viper quick.

Maybe he can make it work.

Keith signs on the dotted line and goes home with a check bigger than he’s ever seen in his life.

That night, settled on his beat up couch with his cat curled up in his lap and his dog on his feet, Keith scrolls through the Team Voltron Twitter and Instagram accounts. They’re full of pictures of the team in action, but also of candid shots of the athletes together, laughing over one thing or another. There are photos of them cheering each other on from the sidelines, smiling and reveling in each other’s successes, comforting each other through stumbles. It gives him pause, and maybe a little bit of hope. He’s never been part of a team before.

 

+++

 

The first thing he’s required to do is film an introduction video showing his personality and skills. The skills are easy, but the personality? How does he show that? He isn’t naturally outgoing and he’s often been told he veers wildy toward unapproachable. Which sucks, if he’s totally honest. He doesn’t dislike people, they’re just tough for him sometimes. He prefers to be direct and clear and very often nobody really likes that, even if they claim to. Keith has never really understood why. It’s what he would want, after all.

But he tries his best on the day the camera crew shows up to record him climbing and maneuvering. He grins and bears it when they ask him questions about his childhood and favorite places and favorite food (why they care is completely beyond him, but if it’s what he’s got to talk about to get paid, he supposes he has no choice). When they’re done, they pack up and leave as quickly as they came, and Keith feels a strange sort of loneliness in that.

He hopes that the appearance of team cohesion proves true.

No more than three days after his shoot, Lotor calls him directly.

“And how is our favorite rock climber today?”

“I’m your only rock climber, but I’m fine, thank you.”

“Fantastic!” Lotor laughs, and it’s extremely fucking fake, but Keith can appreciate it all the same. “So! I’m sure you were wondering where the footage of you is going to appear.”

“I figured it would be in a commercial or something, right?”

“Precisely! We don’t always do this, but when we premiere a new ad campaign with fresh talent, we like to hold banquets to get everyone together and refresh the world on the team. Which is why I’m calling, actually.”

Keith already knows where this is going. He did sign a contract agreeing to this. He shouldn’t be surprised that the company is cashing in on his end of the deal so soon. A small, rebellious part of him insists on asking, though. “I’m guessing I’m going to a banquet?”

“Bingo! We’ll be emailing you the details shortly, but I wanted to personally call to inform you, and tell you that we think you’ll be very pleased with the commercial. You look great in it.”

“Thank you, Lotor.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” he purrs, which is...something. They exchange pleasantries and hang up, and for a moment, Keith is stumped. That is, of course, until his phone rings with a call from Kolivan, and he steels himself for his latest crash course in public interaction.

 

+++

 

The banquet creeps up on him faster than anticipated. He, Kolivan, and his mother spent time going through interview techniques, photo taking etiquette, and various other details Kolivan thought important, like firm handshakes (Keith needs no practice in that arena — in fact, Kolivan informs him that he _really must turn that down_ when they practice), walking confidently, and speaking clearly. These are all things Keith was under the impression that he handled just fine, but apparently he was grossly mistaken in his estimation of his own skills.

Even so, the night of importance arrives, and with it, an entire bundle of nerves Keith hadn’t anticipated. Kolivan sent him the highlight reels of each of his teammates, and he studied them with the eye of a private detective. Since he’d signed his contract, most of Team Voltron tweeted or posted to Instagram to welcome him to the ranks, but aside from Pidge, he’d had no other interaction with them. It’s nerve wracking to consider speaking with each of them for the first time all at once.

He can’t deny, though, that they’re all extremely talented. Well-built for each of their respective professions, they all looked like they were born to do what they did. Keith never thought of himself in that way, but he’s beginning to wonder if that’s what people see when they look at him. It would be crazy if they did, but in a way, it would also feel like a great accomplishment.

The last highlight reel Keith watched was Shiro’s. It was, admittedly, maybe not the best idea. Shiro is something of an entirely different breed. He’s strong and powerful, domineering in presence. The ease with which he wields his snowboard is both impressive and intimidating. Keith doesn’t consider himself the type of guy to develop crushes based off of things like that, but Shiro is seriously something else. If anything, Keith admires the dedication he obviously has for mastering his sport. It’s something he can identify with. He can’t help but hope to have the chance to talk to him about it at the banquet, since he was the one member who hadn't reached out via social media yet.

As he watches the L.A. scenery pass by through the window of the limousine he finds himself crammed in with roughly ten other people headed to the banquet, he tries to think of ways to broach the subject but fails. He’ll just have to wing it.

He’s lost to his thoughts when the limo stops to make a final pick up. A strangled sound and finger jabbing into his collarbone rouses him, snapping his attention forward.

“Kogane!” He visually travels the length of skinny fingers and bony wrist and thin arm up to the scowling face of Pidge. He cracks a smile at her, wide and genuine, and she launches forward, throwing her arms around him. “Welcome to the team, you dick!”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Keith answers, patting her back.

“How’ve you been? You still living in that fucking shanty?”

He rolls his eyes at her. “We don’t all come from genius high-tech millionaire parents, Katie. And why are you acting like we didn't talk last week?”

“Low blow, Kogane,” she answers, narrowing her eyes and ignoring his question. “I take that as a yes, then?”

“Yeah. It’s homey. I can’t leave it.”

Her face softens at that. They’ve been friends for a long time now, and even though they don’t see each other often, she knows more about him than most people on the planet. She gets him.

“Well, then, maybe we can just buy you some really fancy shit to stuff inside it now that you’re gonna be rich.”

“Maybe so,” he laughs. The limo pulls up to the convention center, a valet walking up to open the door for them. “This feels really unnecessary.”

“Oh, it totally is,” Pidge replies, looping her arm in his and dragging him toward the door. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

The next hour rushes by in a blur of beige faces and clammy handshakes, and as each new person filters by, Keith can physically feel himself withdrawing further and further. Everyone in attendance, aside from a couple handfuls of people sprinkled throughout, is a suit of some variety. Keith probably should have expected it, but it takes him by surprise nonetheless.

Blessedly, Pidge manages to break up the monotony by introducing Keith to three of his teammates all at once. As he ambles out from his fourth bathroom visit in forty-five minutes, Keith finds himself being dragged through the crowd at breakneck speed until he’s plopped right in front of Allura, Hunk, and Lance deep in conversation.

“Look, all I’m saying is that the nacho is the _perfect_ cheese delivery system and there’s nothing you can do to sway me from that!”

“I agree with Hunk, and I’m sure this conversation is utterly fascinating, but I need to introduce you to our brand new rock lizard,” Pidge interrupts with a flourish.

“Rock...lizard?” Keith asks.

“It’s what we call climbers,” Lance says. He’s much lankier in person. Maybe it’s because he’s not wearing a ton of gear and pedaling for his life, or maybe it’s because he’s wearing regular clothes, Keith isn’t entirely sure. What he is sure of is the fact that Lance is glaring him down something fierce. Keith looks around to find the source of his displeasure, but comes up empty. “You definitely look like one.”

“What does that mean?”

“A rock lizard. You know, permanent nose tan, dressed like”—Lance gestures wildly to Keith’s entirety— “that.” He narrows his eyes as he continues. “You know they’re already comparing us?”

“Who’s comparing us to what?” Keith is genuinely confused now. There’s a lot happening with no real source, and Keith can’t quite catch up.

“The fans! They all think Keith is gonna catch up to ol’ Loverboy Lance with the ladies!”

“Who is Loverboy Lance?” Keith asks.

Allura snorts from beside Lance, only helping to stir him up even more. His eyes go a little wild with his answer. “Me! I am!”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, man. You can relax. I just wanna climb.”

“And you do so beautifully!” Allura exclaims, putting the kibosh on Lance’s tirade.

“You really do, dude,” Hunk agrees. “I can’t believe the things you can do with just your arms and some rocks!”

Keith flushes under the praise. He doesn’t tend to seek out comments on his climbing, so to hear such open praise is a little new for him. It’s nice, though, to have the support of the team the moment he meets them. It’s comforting to feel like they really are all in it together, or so it seems, at least.

Keith spends dinner laughing and chatting with them as more execs filter around the table. The new commercial Lotor mentioned plays on a screen in the front of the room, and then several assorted people Keith has never met in his life get on stage to compliment the athletes and talk about their newest Voltron flavor — coconut berry, which sounds absolutely vile to Keith. Eventually, everyone has one reason or another to leave the table, and with a lack of anything else to do, Keith decides to scroll through his phone for a bit until it seems like an appropriate time to leave.

No more than ten minutes pass before someone clears their throat from across the table. Keith looks up and nearly smiles when he sees Pidge again, but stops short once he realizes who she’s brought with her.

“This is Shiro,” she says, pushing the man closer to the table. “Say hi, Shiro.”

“Hi,” he repeats, and his voice is even more devastating in person. Keith does his best to collect himself and push his nerves to the back burner. He needs to seem approachable, open to regular human interaction. Shiro is very big. Just the biggest dude Keith’s seen in a long time. He cannot show weakness. He absolutely must play it cool.

“Hello. You’re the boarder. I saw your highlight reel.”

Holy fuck, he’s an embarrassment to all human interaction everywhere. He’s a disaster, a failure, a waste of thought. Pidge shoots him a judgemental look, and _god_ he deserves it.

“You climb good,” Shiro says suddenly, startling Keith off of the track of his current thoughts. He looks closer at the man, taking in the set of his shoulders, the shuffling of his feet, the way he clenches and unclenches his hands. He’s nervous. Why is he nervous? This is fine, Keith can work with this. He just has to be warm and welcoming. No big deal.

“You board good,” he jokes back.

Shiro visibly brightens at that, but remains mum. It’s odd, Keith thinks. Nobody else on the team seemed to have any issues speaking with Keith. Maybe Shiro isn’t nervous. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to Keith very much? The thought hurts a little bit. But it’s no big deal. Keith can retreat to his hotel room to lick his wounds and get over it.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you,” he says, standing from the table to head for the door, “but I gotta get going. Talk to you soon, Katie.”

Pidge gives him another Look, but it’s not one he can decipher. They haven’t seen each other in some time, and his skills in reading her seem to have gone a bit rusty. He pushes the thought away as he weaves through the crowd toward the cars outside, heaving in huge lungfuls of the warm night air to calm himself. As Keith climbs into the back of the limo and gives the driver directions, his phone buzzes in his pocket with a fresh text.

 **Katie Holt:** _You have no idea how much I’m gonna enjoy this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't lie to you, i thought the coconut berry red bull was DELICIOUS. i am a monster. i apologize.


	3. Chapter 3

Look, Shiro knows all about himself. There’s a reason he has the reputation he does. He’s _absolutely_ known as a slut, and he’s made peace with that. He takes different people home when he needs to, forms thin connections with them at best, and calls it even when it’s all over with. The reasons _why_ are things he might not be ready to face yet, but he understands the core of who he is as a human being.

The point here is he has options, man. Several assorted options at any given moment. Too many options, sometimes. He’s lousy with options. Options, options everywhere, and not a drop to drink. Keith has ruined every single choice for him, full stop. Each time Shiro sees him at an event, he takes a little piece of his heart when he leaves.

Which is totally ridiculous.

They barely chat. Sometimes they dm. Mostly, it’s encouraging messages about their latest upcoming competition. Occasionally, just a quick message to say hello and check in on a fellow Voltron athlete. And that’s fine, you know? Fine for teammates sponsored by the largest energy drink company known to man.

But here’s the rub: Shiro’s going to retire one of these days. He won’t be sponsored or boarding, won’t be attending events as an athlete, none of it. Yeah, maybe he’ll commentate sometimes, or go in on a gear company like so many retirees from the sport do. Still, the most important part of all of that is the fact that he and Keith will one day no longer be teammates. He needs to get to know Keith on a deeper level. Something in him just screams that it would be worth the effort to do so. He just needs to figure out how. He doesn’t want things to end here. He can’t let them.

So he opens Instagram.

Posting a photo of yourself is more of an art than anyone really gives it credit for. You have to find the right lighting, the perfect setting, the best angle. Pile on top of all that the need to fit in sponsor branded items, and it can get complicated quickly.

Which is why Shiro decides to go shirtless.

If you wanna catch a fly, you gotta use a little honey. Or a lot of nipple. Whatever works.

He crops everything just right, whips up the perfect caption ( _post gym chillin. what do you do after leg day?_ ), and hits post. From the first embarrassing dm Shiro ever sent, Keith has liked every single one of his pictures. Whether or not he does that for everyone on Team Voltron remains to be seen, as Shiro knows better than to ask, but it still has to mean _something._ So he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And finally, five hours later, he receives a notification that **@kkoganeclimbs** has liked his latest selfie. Immediately, Shiro opens up his inbox and goes in for the kill.

_hows my favorite climber today?_

_...I’m the only climber you know._

_u don’t know that_

_maybe i know lots of climbers_

_Do you?_

_...no_

_Alright then._

_Did you actually want something?_

And isn’t that just the world’s biggest question. There are a lot of things Shiro wants. A nap, a vacation, Keith’s hand in marriage. Okay, maybe not all that, but a date would be pretty choice.

_i just thought we should get to know each other a little better_

_for the team_

_you know_

_like teammates do_

_Like teammates do._

_Okay, I’ll bite._

_What’s your favorite color?_

It’s the determined bluenavygraypurple of Keith’s eyes in the commercial that Shiro keeps bookmarked on his phone. It’s the tan of his shoulders, the freckles across his nose, the oil slick black of his hair. But saying that isn’t cool. That’s a whole lot at once, even for Shiro. Instead, he thinks of the climbing gear Keith wears as he scales the sides of gulches. He thinks of a clean dress shirt stretched perfectly across smooth shoulders as Keith gestures to Pidge in laughter. He thinks of embarrassment tinged cheeks after a well deserved compliment.

_red_

 

+++

 

Shiro actually doesn’t mind award ceremonies. If he were to be honest, it’s kind of nice to get some attention for his actual skills rather than how he looks or what company’s sticker he has slapped on his board. The dressing up is still whatever for him, but he can make the sacrifice as long as it means being able to see Keith dressed up like he is. They’re the only two from Team Voltron at this event. He thanks God for small mercies, because drooling all over a teammate (especially _this_ teammate) in front of Pidge would be a very bad idea.

Just like the first night they met, Keith’s all sleek lines in well-tailored slacks and a red button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His tie is perfectly knotted and his shoes match his belt, and Shiro’s brain might just be about to short circuit. Instead, he sidles up to the man’s side to gently elbow him in the ribs.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Fancy being seen.”

His voice is so gorgeous. It’s honey warm with a little rasp to it, and that just _does things_ for Shiro. He shoves his hands in his pants pockets.

“Are you ready for the season?” he asks, fishing for more of that voice.

“The season of what?”

Oh. Right. They’re in opposite ends of the year. Shiro completely forgot.

“Your, uh. Your climbing season? Look, I don’t know how it works. How does it work?”

Keith smirks and pats Shiro on the shoulder. “Chill out, man. It works a lot like you’d think. You know, it gets hot, I go outside, I climb things. Rinse, repeat.”

He says it so casually, but there’s a sparkle to his eye that tells Shiro of his devotion to the sport, his excitement over what he does. Shiro recognizes that sparkle, because it matches his own for snowboarding. He wants to tug on those threads and send the words spilling from Keith’s lips.

“Do you have any big competitions or anything coming up?”

“Yeah, I have a climb in a month that’ll be pretty cool. It’s a bouldering competition up north.”

“Up north, huh?” Shiro asks with his best air of nonchalance.

Keith sees right through it, his eyes narrowing up at Shiro’s face. “Yes. Why?”

Shiro waves a hand through the air as if to clear it. At the same moment, the emcee calls the room to order for the ceremony to begin. “No reason. See you around, Keith.”

Shiro finds the name of the competition and books a room before he’s even sat down at his assigned table.

 

+++

 

The climbing competition is _intense._ And Shiro knows intense.

Everyone looks focused and determined, hardly speaking to one another as they prepare their gear and size up the wall they’ll be climbing. Keith stands at the back of the pack, eyes narrowed once again, examining the fiberglass rocks with a serious expression. His coach stands next to him, a hulking man that could probably snap Shiro like a twig. He watches as they point at several different things and whisper to each other. Eventually, Keith’s coach claps a meaty hand down on his shoulder and walks away, leaving Keith to finish putting his gloves on. Keith calmly eyes the room as he finishes his prep and Shiro feels it in his chest the moment their eyes connect.

For just a brief second, Keith’s eyes widen, and then he’s stalking across the room to where Shiro stands, casually leaned back against a wall. Keith is graceful as he goes, ducking through the crowd with ease. For a man built on sturdy, compact muscle as he is, he’s surprisingly light on his feet.

“What are you doing here?” Keith demands quietly, pulling up in front of Shiro with crossed arms.

“I mean,” he starts, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I thought I’d come cheer you on. Team Voltron and everything.”

“Team Voltron and everything,” Keith repeats flatly.

“You know, you do that a lot.”

“Do what?”

“Repeat things I say, but all suspicious like.”

“Maybe that’s because I find you suspicious.”

“Well, I don’t see why you would. I’m perfectly harmless, Keith.”

A horn sounds loud from overhead, and Keith turns to look back at the wall, where several climbers are congregating. Before he walks away, he turns back to look at Shiro over his shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”

And then he’s gone.

His climbing is beautiful. He’s calm and collected all the way through, even when it seems like he’s hit a snag. Instead of getting frustrated, Keith just quietly reevaluates and adjusts. He seems grounded in himself, a quiet sort of confidence that Shiro is unused to seeing in sport. Most of the confidence he tends to see is extremely loud and incredibly grating. It’s a nice change.

And his shoulders. God, his _shoulders._

Once the competition wraps up and Keith takes home another first place, Shiro pushes through the crowd, making his approach as Keith packs his bag.

“So,” he starts, rocking up on his toes nervously. “I figure a first place win deserves celebration, don’t you?”

Keith doesn’t even look up from his bag. Still, a small smile creeps across his mouth as he continues to fiddle with the zippers. “And I’m assuming you intend to throw the celebration?”

“Well, maybe not throw one, but, you know. I could take you to dinner.” Keith’s head snaps up, his eyes lancing through Shiro’s soul. He throws his hands up defensively. “Just as a congratulations! That’s all!”

Keith stands up, throwing the strap of his bag over one shoulder.

“What’s your game here? You don’t act like this with anyone else. So why me?” It’s demanding in a pleading sort of way. Keith must be confused, and yeah, that’s fair. Shiro doesn’t usually lay it on this thick for anyone, but he’s running out of ideas, and man, he wants to hook Keith so bad.

“I just want to get to know you. You’re interesting.”

“Interesting.”

“Again with the repeating.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes at Shiro’s barb.

“Maybe some other time. I fly out in a couple hours.”

“Oh,” Shiro answers, feeling slightly deflated. Well, that’s that, then.

“Look,” Keith sighs, “I still don’t get what your deal is, but I do appreciate you trying to get to know me. It’s been nice how welcoming everyone is.” He smiles, a small pleased thing, but that’s enough.

Shiro can work with that. He can be patient. Patience yields focus, as his father always used to say.

 

+++

 

Team Voltron sponsored parties are Shiro’s favorite parties, full stop. All of his favorite people are gathered in one place, the alcohol is free-flowing, and there’s never any end to things to catch Shiro’s attention at any given moment.

At this particular moment, that thing just so happens to be Keith. Shiro flexes his fingers around the sweaty neck of his beer bottle and watches as Keith breezes through the door with Pidge laughing and dragging him by the arm. He’s saying something with a smile stretched across his lips, and the fluorescent lights overhead wash his hair in a glowing halo. He’s soft and gorgeous, and Shiro is so gone.

“You know, if you stare any harder, we all might get burned.”

He whips his head around to Matt, feet casually propped up on the table they’ve claimed.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re the worst liar on the face of this planet, and I am ashamed to know you, Takashi Shirogane.”

“I love you, too, Matt.”

“Seriously, though. Just go say hi. He’s actually really sweet.”

“Sweet?” Shiro considers what that might mean. He knows Keith is polite and charming when he wants to be. He knows Keith is serious in his approach of all things. But sweet? He wonders about the type of sweet he could get Keith to be. How sweet he might look splayed across silken sheets in a fire-warmed lodge. How sweet his mouth would look—

“Shiro. Really. _Please_ just go over there. I’m dying.”

“Right,” Shiro says resolutely. He flexes his fists on his knees, pushing himself to stand. “Yeah. I’m gonna go say hello.”

Keith throws his head back, laughing brightly at something Pidge mutters to him. Shiro hesitates.

“My crops are dying.”

“Matt.”

“My grandchildren are ready to bury my corpse.”

Shiro takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been added to and removed from history books, Shiro.”

“Okay! Okay, I’m going!”

Shiro pushes through the crowd with all the confidence of a man already preparing to be shot down. Keith sees him coming. His shoulders draw up ever so slightly, but he does a good job at keeping his face neutral while Shiro makes his approach.

“Keith,” he greets with a smile. “Hey, Katie.”

“Hey there, mountain man!” she answers with a laugh.

“Matt’s over there, if you wanna see him tonight,” Shiro gestures back with his head.

Fortunately for him, she takes the hint, rushing toward the table with a quick, “See ya!”

Keith and Shiro both watch her go, Keith with a warm smile on his face until she fades out of sight. Once she does, he turns to regard Shiro seriously. “Back again, huh?”

“What can I say?” Shiro says with a smirk. “I’m a glutton for punishment.” Keith’s lips twitch at the corners, and Shiro fist pumps internally at the gesture. “This is your first one of these, right?”

Keith nods. “Yeah, but it’s not my first party.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I do leave the house sometimes.”

Shiro snorts, but makes the mistake of looking down his nose into Keith’s smiling eyes. They’re so clear this close up, sparkling and beautiful. He could bathe in those limpid pools, he thinks dramatically. It’s an extremely gross and embarrassing thought to have, so he keeps it to himself.

Instead, he straightens, giving Keith a quick once over. “You look really good tonight.” His voice only wavers a fraction, something he is extremely proud of.

Keith crosses his arms over his chest, returning Shiro’s gaze. “So do you,” he answers quietly. Shiro’s soul nearly rockets to the moon.

“You wanna grab a drink with me?”

A myriad of emotions pass over Keith’s face. Shiro is unsure if it’s intentional or not, but he feels like at least he’s making some sort of headway into getting Keith to open up to him a little bit. Eventually, he just shrugs a little bit and flashes a bit of canine.

“Sure, why not?”

His beer goes largely ignored as Shiro works to pry Keith open under his attention. Eventually, they settle into lighthearted banter that rolls easily between them. Keith is warm and easy to speak with, good humored and witty as all hell. His humor is sharp and direct, but never mean. If he wasn’t in trouble before, then Shiro is definitely in trouble of never getting his heart back now.

“You know the first time I ever saw you was in the Voltron office?” Keith asks.

“What? We’ve met before?” Shiro doesn’t remember. To be fair, he forgets a lot of things that he doesn’t find important at the time of their occurrence. Still, he finds it hard to believe he would ever forget someone like Keith. Beautiful, brilliant, special Keith who sweeps him off his feet every time they’re in the same room with no effort at all.

“Ah, no,” Keith says with a laugh. “You were in those commercials they play nonstop. It was this interview where you were talking about how much you love to board and what the sport means to you. It was the first time I thought I might fit in here.”

“Woah, seriously?” It’s touching that Keith would think that way about any of the things Shiro says in those interviews. They’re largely posturing and trying to put a visceral love for a sport into words. They’re hardly the easiest things to get through. He can’t help laying his hand across Keith’s forearm. “Keith, thank you.”

Keith’s cheeks flush slightly pink. Shiro wants to reach out and touch the warmth on them, to send them darker. He wants to kiss that flush into permanence.

“Nah, thank you. That video kind of pushed me to accept the offer. I thought if everyone felt that way about what they do, then I could maybe find a place here.”

Shiro squeezes Keith’s arm. “You have a place. You’re incredible, Keith.”

It’s hard to stop there, to let the words hang between them, but Shiro knows better. Keith is just starting to open up to him, to really make himself available, and the last thing Shiro wants is to scare him off.

“I, uh,” Keith stutters. He stands up swiftly, nearly knocking his chair backward with the force of it. “I gotta go. See you around, Shiro.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Shiro sighs to himself.

 

+++

 

The party is winding down, and Shiro is exhausted. Keith aside, his night has been excellent. He’s managed to catch up with everyone from Team Voltron, which is nice, because they’re so rarely all in the same place at once, and they’re all genuinely good friends to him. He and Allura talk nearly every day, but it’s never the same as seeing each other in person.

Still, eventually the time comes for him to leave, so Shiro excuses himself to the bathroom before he takes off for the night. As he strolls out, he stops short at what he sees.

Rolo is a smart-mouthed upstart kid born of rich parents and excess energy. He’s also a brilliant snowboarder. He’s truly the next generation, a culmination of all who came before and everything that is yet to come. Still, he’s a constant thorn in Shiro’s side. In the past year that he’s emerged hot on the scene, he’s spent his entire time nipping at Shiro’s heels. Whether it be decimating Shiro’s long standing records, or slyly insulting him in the press and to competitors on the circuit, he’s never very far from Shiro’s awareness.

And now, in the ultimate insult possible, he’s standing in front of Keith. Keith’s back is turned, so he can’t see Shiro from where he is, but Rolo could easily spot him if he shifted just right. They’re laughing together, chatting easily in a way that Shiro hadn’t managed upon their first meeting. An ugly flame starts low in his stomach, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

Rolo looks over Keith’s shoulder and catches Shiro’s eye. He smirks, an ugly thing, and leans forward into Keith’s space. He whispers something to him, settling a hand down on Keith’s shoulder. Keith nods and Rolo looks smug.

Shiro’s vision bleeds red, but he has no claim here. He painfully reminds himself of this fact as he stalks out of the dining hall and straight to his waiting car.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s problematic, Keith thinks, how often his mind drifts to Shiro. He can’t shake his face from his thoughts, his laugh from his ears. He thinks back often to the impossibly soft look on his face when Keith told him that he was part of the reason he accepted Team Voltron’s offer. Keith doesn’t often get hung up on anyone. He’s long accepted the transient nature of every relationship he’s ever held, and has come to accept it. Shiro is attractive, yeah, but that’s not all there is to him. There’s just _something_ about Shiro he can’t completely shake.

Granted, Keith has done nothing but give him a hard time. But he doesn’t think it’s totally without reason.

The day he signed his contract, Keith went home and googled Team Voltron. If he was going to be placed among them, he wanted to know as much as possible about the people he would soon be surrounded by. Allura, Hunk, and Lance were a quick search. Fifteen minutes on Google was all he needed to get a good idea of the sorts of people they were. Pidge needed no introduction.

But, Shiro.

Shiro.

Takashi Shirogane is an extremely accomplished man. Not much is known about his background — his family is shrouded in mystery, although Keith suspects that’s by design rather than a lack of discussion. He understands. Were it up to him, nobody would know anything about his personal life, either.

Aside from that, however, he’s an extremely open book.

Shiro is a legend in snowboarding. He’s created a laundry list of tricks, set an even longer list of records, and been in the game longer than almost anyone in his sport has ever been. Shiro is a man who came to snowboarding and clawed his way to the top, despite the personal tragedy that took his unbroken skin and dominant arm. He’s highly lauded, well regarded, and damn near revered as a god on Earth. Keith understands; people tend to get passionate about their favorite sports, and snowboarding is one of those things that brings very specific, fervent passion.

Because Shiro is so talented and prolific, he’s also extremely rich. Like, millions of dollars rich. Millions. With an s. It’s a lot for Keith to think about, considering the scant paychecks his chalk dusted ventures tend to bring in. If the speculatory articles he finds are anything to go by, however, the amount of money Shiro is worth is very nearly ridiculous for someone simply doing a sport.

Unrelated to talent, but extremely important to note: Shiro is exceptionally gorgeous. This is not a fact determined by Keith, although he would be quick to agree (even if only to himself, in the middle of the night, in the privacy of his own room with all of the lights turned off), but rather, an objective fact as found by anyone in the universe with functioning eyes. His jaw is sharp cut, a smooth razor’s edge that anyone would be happy to be cut on. His brows and nose are straight and serious, just as strong as his jaw. His cheekbones reach for the lord himself, as high and angular as they sit on his face. His hair is just on the right side of messy, partially bleached white as the snow he lives in. He shows no sign of sun or wind damage at any given time, which is inhuman in and of itself.

And his muscles.

They’re so…

Takashi Shirogane is built like a brick shithouse, and Keith would let him punch him right in the dick with his metal arm if it meant getting his hands on it in any sense.

Keith will never admit this out loud to anyone, ever, no matter what, simply because of the final and most important fact his googling reveals.

Shiro gets around. Google images is full of press and paparazzi photos of him with all sorts of pretty boys on his arm, attending all varieties of events. They’re very rarely the same, but each one shines with the gleam of someone used to the kind of attention they receive from their association. The only guy Keith sees more than once looks like he was pulled straight from the pages of a dermatologist’s catalog. He’s smooth and polished until gleaming, perfectly straight teeth bleached bright white.

Keith tongues at the eyeteeth that poke out of his lips when he concentrates too hard and sighs.

The last point is a hard one to learn. It’s disheartening, because Keith will both never live up to that sort of image or allow himself to be relegated to the position of arm candy. He could never be that.

Even if they’d been yet to meet when Keith made the discoveries he did, it was still a fact he knew he would need to constantly keep in mind. Shiro is charming and outgoing, bright and brilliant in all his interactions.

Once they actually spend time speaking about substance, Keith finds it more difficult to remember why he can’t get too attached.

It’s hard to admit, but he’s Keith’s type exactly.

Shiro’s laugh is bright as the sun as they joke together and chat over a beer at the Team Voltron summer party. His smile and eyes are soft and fond, and when he lays a hand over Keith’s arm, he’s very nearly done for. Keith can’t handle the heat, so he has to get out of the kitchen.

Shiro disappears for the rest of the evening, which is just as well for Keith. He needs some time to clear his head. He takes a turn of the room, just wandering and taking in the noise, until a new hand lands on his arm, bringing him to a stop. Keith spins around, only to find Lotor attached to that arm.

“Keith, how lovely to see you here!” The way he says it is much like a royal delivering a fresh decree. His hand slides down Keith’s arm to grasp at his wrist. He steps in closer and smiles sharply as he drops Keith’s arm, fingertips brushing his skin as they go. “I’ve been monitoring your progress, you know.”

“Yeah?” Keith responds in confusion. This isn’t the first time Lotor has behaved this way with him. Keith isn’t dumb, he knows it’s flirtatious, but it’s also half-threatening, and it’s difficult to parse through the bullshit to find Lotor’s goal.

“You are”—Lotor leans in closer to whisper—“most impressive.”

Keith leans away from Lotor. “Well, thanks. I try hard.”

Lotor quirks a suggestive eyebrow, his eyes raking down Keith’s body. “I can tell.”

“Look, I—”

“Lotor, you son of a bitch!” a new voice interrupts. Lotor cringes, his entire body going rigid at the sound. As the newcomer approaches, he barely glances at Keith, which is strange, because Keith feels like all of the guy’s attention is on him. “You trying to catch more little fish out here or somethin’?”

_Little fish?_

“Rolo. So nice to see you again,” Lotor greets in a way that says it is absolutely _not_ nice to see him again. He gestures to Keith. “This is Keith. He’s one of our athletes.”

Because it’s polite, Keith reaches out for a handshake. Rolo takes it, grasping his hand confidently.

“I know who Keith Kogane is,” he says, looking Keith directly in the eye. The attention makes him squirm. “I was actually hoping to talk to you, Keith. Do you have a minute?”

Keith looks back to an endlessly annoyed Lotor. He feels bad momentarily, until he remembers the feeling of Lotor’s eyes skimming his body. He shrugs a shoulder. “Sure.”

“Great! Let’s get a drink.”

It’s Keith’s third of the night, so he drinks it slowly as Rolo sits him down and prattles on about himself. He’s a snowboarder rising through the ranks, openly vocal about coming for Shiro’s throne. Still, he also seems to want to genuinely know about Keith.

They talk about their backgrounds and the places they’ve been, their favorite towns to visit and hobbies to participate in during their downtime. Rolo is attentive and funny, cracking jokes that hit Keith perfectly every time. He’s an unusual kind of guy, but Keith can appreciate that. He’s handsome in a rugged way, a little rough around the edges like Keith is himself.

“So tell me about you and Shiro.”

Keith knocks back a swig of his beer to buy himself some time. Rolo must see right through it, because his eyes sharpen on Keith’s face.

“I don’t know what there is to tell,” Keith admits.

“Well, word’s getting around, dude. You should probably figure it out.”

“Word?”

“Yeah, man. Everyone is saying you’re his latest target. You know he hasn’t seen anyone lately? I mean, in a noticeable stretch of time.”

Something about that makes Keith’s guts writhe.

Keith can admit that he has a crush on Shiro. He’d be more surprised to meet someone who doesn’t (Rolo not included), but he also knows to remind himself of the facts. He has to be realistic about things: Shiro has a reputation, and his affections seem fleeting at best.

Keith has a job to do for Team Voltron and himself, and that is the most important thing to him.

“We’re not anything. Just friends.”

Rolo seems pleased at the admission. “Yeah, well, you should probably think about keeping it that way. Nobody ever wants to admit it, because _Shiro,_ you know? But, anything he touches? Ruined when he’s done.”

“What does that mean?”

Rolo pushes his beer aside in favor of leaning across the table. “You ever heard about any of his exes? Any of them at all?”

Keith thinks about it briefly, poring back through all of the information he’d seen online. Come to think of it, none of the photos or articles ever really mentioned names. They never touched on his romantic life, or if they did, he swerved the questions with ease.

The pieces slide into place, and they don’t paint a pretty picture.

Rolo can tell he’s got him. He knows by the smile that cracks his face in two. “Come with me to my next comp. I wanna show you what I can do.”

 

+++

 

It’s cold on the mountain. Which is a stupid thought. Of course it’s cold, it’s a winter sport.

Rolo’s behavior leaves Keith colder.

Ever since his arrival, Keith has found himself pinned under nearly obsessive word vomit from Rolo about Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. Not to mention the constant touching. Unless he’s off to do something related to his competition today, Rolo is consistently swarming around Keith, setting a hand on his arm, or hand, or back. It’s smothering and possessive in a way that frays Keith’s nerves. It dulls his reactions and leaves him uncomfortably slow to respond.

“I bet Shiro wishes he was here right now,” Rolo says with a smarmy look on his face. The hand he has settled between Keith’s shoulderblades flexes.

“What?” It doesn’t make sense. Shiro is here, they saw each other earlier in the day, although they didn’t acknowledge it much. Rolo leans closer into Keith’s side.

“I mean _here_.” His hand flexes again and he drops his arm to Keith’s waist. “Right here.”

Rolo isn’t looking at Keith. He’s looking across the crowd they’re standing in. He’s looking at Shiro. Shiro is looking at Keith. Immediately, Keith understands.

He’s not here as a friend or a date. He’s here as a chess piece. Keith is a way for Rolo to try getting in Shiro’s head, under his skin.

Keith has spent a long time — years, in fact — teaching himself how to even out his anger. Since he nearly destroyed his own life lashing out as a teenager, he promised himself he’d never be that person again. He swore that he would never allow his temper to control him again.

But here, now, he’s so angry he could spit fire.

He rips himself away from Rolo’s reach, stalking toward the viewing area.

“I’ll see you when it’s over,” he grumbles as he goes. Rolo says nothing, presumably absorbed in his own mini victory.

Shiro destroys the competition.

According to Rolo, this event is relatively minor. It’s moreso to see all of the year’s competitors and start working into the headspace they need to crush later, more important events. Still, Shiro looks at the slope like a mortal enemy he seeks vengeance upon. He rides his board like a demon come to collect his due. He storms the course and ends the day with a record breaking score, proving again why he sits at the top of his sport.

He barely looks at Keith.

When the runs are complete, Rolo sits in second place. Even if he didn’t win, he still somehow looks so pleased with himself that Keith can’t stand it. He watches Rolo’s head swivel on his shoulders, obviously seeking him out, but Keith doesn’t want to be found. He slips away into the crowd, and sends him a text that he got lost and he’ll see him at the dinner scheduled for later.

At the dinner, Keith makes no effort to find Rolo.

Instead, he traipses through the conference room until he spots Shiro alone at a table, playing on his phone. His brow is furrowed and shoulders stiff, hardly the body language of a man who just won yet another medal.

“Hey,” Keith says, dropping into a seat across from Shiro. Shiro looks up at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. Keith has to work hard not to laugh. “You stare a lot.”

“Do I?” Shiro asks in a slightly strangled voice. “I never noticed.”

“You’re lying. And you’re not slick. I know your game, Shirogane.”

To his credit, Shiro tries hard to look confused. “What, um. What game is that?”

“I’m not gonna fuck you.”

“I didn’t—”

“It’s all over you any time I see you. You have a reputation, you know? Everyone knows what you’re like. People talk.”

Shiro’s face goes through several changes at Keith’s words. Flashes of shock, upset, and genuine _hurt_ wash across his features, and that draws Keith up short. He stops to think about his words and feels regretful for how they came out.

“Yeah, they tend to,” Shiro sighs. “That doesn’t make it all true.”

“Still. I’m no conquest.” Keith never has been and he never will be. He likes Shiro, from what he’s seen so far. Dangerously so. But he refuses to be anything but himself. Shiro needs to understand that.

“I would never treat you that way. I just really like you, Keith.”

The admission draws Keith up short again. Shiro looks so open and honest with his words, and maybe, just _maybe,_ Keith thinks, this is something that could eventually happen. While he considers, the chair next to him screeches as Rolo pulls it out and throws himself into the seat. His arm settles heavily around Keith’s shoulders, an extremely unappreciated show of territory.

“Is everything okay over here, babe?”

Keith shrugs the arm from his shoulders. He could make a bigger deal of this, he really could, but Keith has become a master of sidestepping all sorts of dumb shit. He’ll get through this, tell Rolo off in private, and move along with his life.

“I’m fine. We were just saying hello.”

“Really? Because to me, it looks like this guy’s bothering you.”

It really, really doesn’t, and they all know it.

“Dude, this is my table,” Shiro answers.

Rolo slides a too hot hand along Keith’s thigh. “Maybe we should get out of here,”

“Alright.” Keith answers, standing from his seat. “Shiro.”

Keith turns from the table without a single look back. He can’t look back. He knows if he does, he’ll make a mistake of some variety that he’s not prepared to answer for.

Instead, he waits until he and Rolo arrive at their hotel before throwing a single, heavy punch straight into the other man’s jaw.

“I am not a trophy. I’m not a tool. You can fuck right off, Rolo.”

Later, when he sends Shiro a dm to apologize and offer friendship, Shiro’s reaction leaves him warm and smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the spice begins next chapterrr


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to the wonderful and patient [AniDragon](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/423903), who provided the art for this fic. she was endlessly accommodating and waited so kindly while i dragged my entire ass trying to put this monster together. please go check her out!

Keith hits his knees like a sinner in a Lifetime movie. Big, pretty, Bambi eyes skate up Shiro’s stomach, peeking at him through feathery lashes. The look hits Shiro square in the teeth, knocking the wind out of him in an instant. Keith’s fingers glide around Shiro’s hip, trailing up to graze against the abs beneath his shirt.

“You should take this off,” Keith whispers, a tease of a breath against Shiro’s stomach. “You won’t need it for a while.”

Shiro wastes no time, tugging the offending layer up and over his head in jerky movements, getting his head stuck in the collar before sorting himself out. Keith chuckles at his clumsy misfortune, the sound raspy and pleasing to Shiro’s ear. A fire stokes in his stomach, feeding itself on the oxygen spilling from Keith’s lips over Shiro’s skin.

His shirt removed, Keith sits back on his heels to drag a hot look across the expanse of Shiro’s torso.

“ _Jesus shitting Christ,_ ” he murmurs, although Shiro isn’t sure if it’s meant for him to hear. Judging by the glaze over Keith’s eyes, he thinks it’s more of a prayer than anything else, which is flattering as all hell. Shiro doesn’t get much time to sit on that, though, because Keith dives in with renewed fervor, undoing his belt and dropping the zipper of his pants in record time. He tugs Shiro’s jeans down past his knees and shoves his face directly into the front of Shiro’s boxer briefs, panting hotly against the erection trapped beneath.

Shiro could look down at him forever.

Almost as if he hears his thoughts, Keith’s eyes snap open, sparkling violet spearing Shiro straight through the heart. Keith maintains eye contact as he opens his mouth, his tongue snaking out to drag a firm stripe up the front of Shiro’s underwear. The wet heat nearly makes Shiro’s knees buckle, and briefly, he wonders how he’ll make it through the main event if just _this_ gets him going so much.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Keith says, slipping Shiro’s underwear down over his hips. “You’re thinking that you’re gonna come all over my face before I even get my mouth on you.”

How he could read that, Shiro may never know, but it doesn’t matter much, because before he can even formulate an answer, Keith is taking him in a thin, strong hand.

“But don’t worry,” Keith reassures him. “You won’t have time for that.”

And with that, Keith swallows him to the root.

“Holy _fuck,_ ” Shiro wheezes, feeling himself bottom out at the back of Keith’s throat. The other man doesn’t so much as gag as he sets to sucking, bobbing his head with unrelenting fervor and swallowing around him. Shiro’s vision whites out, the sound going fuzzy in his ears. It’s been a while since anyone’s really sucked him off like this, all hot and wet and loud.

And God, is it loud. Keith slurps and moans and sniffles as he works. Each new noise sends a vibration up Shiro’s shaft, reverberating deep in his groin in pleasurable waves. It’s magical, really, how good Keith is at this. Shiro groans and pants, the metallic fingers of his prosthetic sinking deep into silky black locks. He grips Keith’s hair firmly, tugging his head back as he nears completion.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so fucking good. Why are you so fucking _good_?” Shiro’s legs quake with it, his thighs tensing and flexing beneath his skin. His synapses are firing off in random fits and spurts of action, his thoughts scattering to the breeze as he moans loud. The edge is approaching and he can see it rushing forward. Keith pulls off with a slick pop, wrapping a firm palm around Shiro again, tugging with a brutal pace.

“I’m good because you want me to be.” Keith’s hand twists just right, thumb catching on the head of Shiro’s dick. He dips the pad into the slit and Shiro could cry, it feels so luscious, so good.

“I’m good because I’m your dream.” He leans forward, kissing up and down Shiro’s shaft. He flicks his wrist again, and Shiro’s right there, he can feel it. His spine straightens with the force of his approaching release.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Keith croons. “Wake up for me.”

Shiro draws up short on a breath. “Wh-what?”

Keith dips his mouth around Shiro once more, drawing off slowly with a light drag of his teeth. He looks up again, resting Shiro against his lips. “Give it to me, Shiro. Wake up!”

_“Wake up, Shiro! Goddammit, wake the fuck up!”_

Cold water hits Shiro’s face and he gasps awake. He snaps upright, coughing and spluttering. When he opens his eyes, he finds Matt doubled over in laughter, an empty glass clutched close to his chest.

“Oh my God, Shiro. You should see your face right now!”

“Oh, well, I’d love to, Matt. I really would. But my eyes are full of fucking _water,_ so it seems like I won’t!” A towel smacks against Shiro’s face, further plunging him into darkness. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Anywaaay, how’s about you tell ol’ Matty what you were dreaming about, hmm? Musta been good. You were really getting into it.”

Shiro drops the towel from his face, his spine going cold.

“What do you mean I was really getting into it?” he demands.

“So, you know that thing? That you do sometimes? Where you talk in your sleep?”

No, no, nono _no,_ please no. The last thing Shiro needs is to fuel Matt’s deranged obsession with tormenting him until the end of his days. They’re best friends (always will be, if Shiro has any say), but no amount of brotherly love will ever stop Matt from being a little shit at every available moment.

“I know I, uh, mumble sometimes,” Shiro answers diplomatically. Maybe, just maybe, he can talk around it enough to avoid the subject.

“Well, bucky boy, this time you were straight up moaning. Just full-on, Night of the Living Dead, zombie out for brains moaning. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were having yourself a good ol’ fashioned wet dream. But, I mean, that’d be ridiculous, right? It’s not like you’ve been out here pining away for anyone in particular or anything, right?”

Fucking of _course._ Of course Matt would bring it up. It’s not like Shiro is proud of his crush. It’s actually extremely embarrassing. Keith has the uncanny ability to throw Shiro off of every piece of game that he’d ever learned in his entire life and feel no remorse about it.

“Dude, Shiro. Look, I love you, man, but I can’t keep watching this. This guy’s been giving you the run around for months now. He’s not gonna give in.”

Shiro sighs a heavy, world-weary exhale. Matt’s not wrong. It’s been nearly a year since Shiro’d first seen Keith, and in all that time, he’s managed to make absolutely no headway with the other man. The barest of pleasantries exchanged at team events, a rudimentary compliment forced through a stiff jaw. A single honest exchange over a couple bottles of beer. A tentative offer of friendship, during which it was made perfectly clear that Shiro would be receiving no sort of romantic resolution. Nothing like what Shiro’s craving.

He drags his hands through his sleep-mussed hair and stares at his toes. “I know, man. I just—I can’t let it go. There’s just something about him, you know?”

“What? His attitude? His callouses? His weird glove tan?”

Shiro tries not to be frustrated with Matt. He understands how it looks from the outside. Shiro, world-renowned heartthrob extraordinaire, chasing futilely after the only person on Earth that doesn’t seem to want a thing to do with him. Shiro, millionaire playboy snowboarder with the world at his fingertips, distracted by suntanned shoulders and a freckled nose. Shiro, top-billed Team Voltron athlete, pursuing the one tail that can fully evade him.

The worst of it all is that Keith is constantly at his fingertips.

Last night’s dream, the latest in a string of rapidly increasing fantasies, saw Keith in the outfit he wore at the most recent Team Voltron publicity event. This time, it was the unveiling of Lance’s latest commercial for the energy drink that pays them all the big bucks. Lance’s shit-eating grin was wide and bright, his laughter loud and raucous, but all Shiro could focus on was Keith’s _arms._

See, the thing Shiro’s learned over the last year about Keith is that he’s a hell of a rock climber. The higher, the steeper, the better. He takes his sport seriously, treating it with a reverence that Shiro can only hope to garner for himself one day. This means that Keith treats his body like a well-oiled machine, uses it to its fullest potential, trains and hones and feeds it well. Shiro has a bit of a thing for rebellious boys with whipcord muscles and determined scowls.

Keith is the kind of dangerous that could lay Shiro out flat and step over his corpse. Shiro would thank him for the blessing.

And really, who could have blamed Shiro for staring at Keith throughout the entire party? This slight, lean, sex-bomb of a man in tailored slacks and a deep ruby dress shirt rolled up to the elbow (although, Shiro is beginning to wonder if he even _owns_ any other dress clothes). His forearms were just...out. For the entire world to see. Just put on display like it was no big deal. When Shiro first spotted him that evening, he almost had to sit down. He definitely didn’t need to go directly to the bathroom and jerk off as quickly and quietly as he possibly could. But it took the edge off.

If anything, each time Shiro runs across Keith at a team event or press conference or showcase, he just finds himself further cemented in his hopeless spiral of feelings. He’s not even sure _if_ they’re feelings, which is the worst part of it all. Shiro is painfully aware that this is simply a crush gone wild. Hell, he and Keith have only ever spoken a few sentences to each other. Mostly, it’s been Shiro stammering and trying to scrape three words together while Keith regarded him amusedly from a cocked hip. All of their meaningful exchanges have been text based, and that's absolutely not a thing to base a relationship off of.

“Shiro, seriously,” Matt interrupts his thoughts with a hand placed gingerly atop his shoulder. “You’re torturing yourself. He’s an icebox and you’re freezing.”

“‘M not freezing,” Shiro argues weakly. “And I know, okay? I know. I’ll get over it. It’s just a crush. It’ll run its course or whatever, just gotta let it.”

Matt doesn’t seem convinced, but at least he lets it drop.

Shiro has a flight out of town the next day to head to his next pre-season competition. It’s an easy downhill course, nothing too intense, so he doesn’t really focus on getting into the proper headspace for it. Instead, he cracks a book on the plane and tries to distract himself from his swirling thoughts for ten minutes. It doesn’t work in the least.

Once Shiro finds himself reading the same sentence for the thirtieth time, he gives up and shoves the book back in his bag with a heavy sigh. It’s useless. He can’t keep himself focused in the least. It’s strange, because normally his dreams don’t knock him so off-kilter.

This one just felt so vivid, so real.

Keith is so vivid and real.

Shiro’s plane eventually lands. He picks up his bags from luggage claim and finds the car designated for him. On the ride to his hotel, he flips through his phone. His social media is full of the usual: notifications from his latest Instagram post, notifications from his latest tweet, notifications from Facebook (he’s not even sure why he still has a Facebook — if his mom and family weren’t so keen on following him there, he’d delete it), notifications, notifications, notifications.

He ignores them all and checks his texts to find one from Allura nestled right at the top. Although she’s been quieter than Matt in her opinion of the situation, she’s still been an invaluable shoulder for Shiro to lean on as he navigates the mess of his heart.

_Hey, hot stuff. I heard you had a rough night._

Shiro snorts under his breath at the understatement of the century.

_not rough so much as long_

_Still dreaming about him, huh?_

_yeah_

_i don’t know how to get over it lura_

_Yes, Matt told me as much. I’m sorry I can’t be of better help._

_you’re always of help princess_

_Don’t let Lance catch you saying things like that. He might skin you alive._

_i think we both know i’m the least of his problems_

_Perhaps, but does Lance?_

Shiro laughs low at his phone, tucking it away for later as the car pulls up to the hotel. He sleeps well enough that night, catching enough rest to let him relax into the competition the next day. That is, of course, until he spots Keith.

With Rolo.

Rolo, the owner of an extremely punchable face. Rolo, who claims to have a brand new trick that no one has ever seen. Rolo, who catches Shiro’s eye and smirks with cruel delight as he tightens an arm around Keith’s waist and whispers something into his ear.

Shiro ignores the heavy weight of violet eyes on his back as he lays down his cleanest run of the year.

Turns out spite is just as good of a motivator as winning itself.

Turns out Shiro can’t quite get out from under this massive crush.

Turns out Shiro has a big fucking problem.

The banquet that night is boring. They all are these days, if Shiro’s honest with himself. Ever since the first time he’d seen Keith, he hasn’t been able to force himself to bring dates to these things, and if he even does, they’re friends. He hasn’t slept with anyone in the time since he met Keith, and that’s quite the accomplishment where he’s concerned, according to the gossip blogs. He still doesn’t want to examine that detail, but someday, he’ll really need to sort it out.

It’s just that Keith is a ghost haunting him all the time. It’s nonsensical, really. He’s gotta let it go at some point. He just can’t. He can’t explain it, or even begin to figure it out. Keith just hits every point for Shiro, ticks every box. Physically, mentally, attitudinally, all of it.

“Hey,” a lightly gravelled voice greets, its owner plopping down in a chair across from Shiro at his empty banquet table. Shiro looks up from where he fiddles with his phone to find the source of all his woes himself. No big deal. No problem. He’s just gotta play it cool, maybe crack a few jokes, warm Keith up. “You stare a lot.”

Or not.

“Do I?” Shiro asks as if he doesn’t already know. “I never noticed.”

Keith leans forward over the table, narrowing his eyes. “You’re lying. And you’re not slick. I know your game, Shirogane.”

It’s not the time, and it’s definitely not the place, but the way his name rolls from Keith’s tongue sends a chill down Shiro’s spine. He wishes it were a tangible thing, Keith speaking the word. He would tuck it in his wallet to revisit again and again.

“What, um. What game is that?”

Keith’s eyes go ever narrower. “I’m not gonna fuck you.”

And _holy shit,_ has word gotten around? Has Shiro accidentally said something to the wrong person? That’s impossible, he never talks about it to anyone but two people. Did Matt tip Keith off? He wouldn’t dare.

“I didn’t—”

“It’s all over you any time I see you. You have a reputation, you know? Everyone knows what you’re like. People talk.”

Of course people talk. Shiro’s used to it, numb to the gossip. Most of it is untrue, but he doesn’t bother arguing anymore. People will believe what they want to believe, anyway.

“Yeah, they tend to,” he sighs. “That doesn’t make it all true.”

Keith’s eyes widen a fraction before he sets his mouth resolutely. “Still. I’m no conquest.”

“I would never treat you that way,” Shiro says earnestly. “I just really like you, Keith.”

Keith goes quiet, regarding him speculatively across the table. His lips purse, working together as he contemplates. His eyebrows dip in thought. As he thinks, Rolo approaches from behind him. His face is neutral, but there’s a knowing gleam in his eye that Shiro doesn’t like. He slips into the chair beside Keith, draping an arm across his shoulders. Keith flinches minutely, not enough for anyone to truly notice, but Shiro is well-versed in the act of observing him. He can tell how uncomfortable the contact is for him.

“Is everything okay over here, babe?” Rolo asks, laying it on thick as hell. Shiro stops himself from rolling his eyes, but only barely. Keith’s eyebrows scrunch up again, and he rolls his shoulders, expertly sliding Rolo’s arm away and down to the back of his chair.

“I’m fine. We were just saying hello.” His tone brooks no argument, this much Shiro can tell. But Rolo either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it.

“Really? Because to me, it looks like this guy’s bothering you.”

“Dude, this is my table,” Shiro points out. Rolo cuts him a calculated look and slides a hand across Keith’s thigh. Shiro tries so hard not to react, he really does. A flinch cuts its way through anyway. Rolo notices and smirks in triumph.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” he says low to Keith, and it’s like a punch to the teeth, watching someone else speak to him that way. Keith looks none too pleased at the display, but nods his head nonetheless.

“Alright.” He stands from his seat, letting Rolo’s hand fall where it may. “Shiro.”

He turns and stalks away, Rolo drifting along behind him like some sad, drooling comet. Briefly, Shiro wonders if that’s what he looks like to everyone else. Man, he’s really got to kick this thing in the ass before he goes insane.

He leaves without fanfare, taking himself and his gold medal, for all the good it’s done him this evening, back to his hotel room. He’s got an early flight in the morning and he still needs to pack. As Shiro slips the keycard in the door of his room, his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s the special buzz telling him he has a Twitter dm, which is pretty unusual. He has his inbox set specifically to only receive from people he follows, and anyone that would be messaging should already have his number.

Shouldering his way into his room, he checks his phone and damn near throws the thing across the room. It’s from Keith.

_Hey._

_Look, I’m sorry about Rolo. I didn’t know he only invited me to piss you off._

_Now that I think about it, I guess it makes sense._

_We’re still not fucking._

_But we can be friends._

_I guess._

Shiro smiles and thanks his lucky stars he’s alone in his room. He takes a few moments to collect himself before typing out the perfect reply.

_it’s a start_

 

+++

 

Keith’s easy for it, plush lips parting just enough to slip Shiro’s fingers past spit-slick skin. His knees must be filthy, bare skin pressed against the unmopped floor through the knees of his ripped jeans. The moan that tears itself from his carved chest is throaty, weighted with heat and desire as Shiro presses his fingers down, pinning Keith’s tongue to the floor of his mouth.

Spit drools from Keith’s mouth, spilling over his chin and pooling in the deep divot of his collarbone. Shiro bends over, dipping his thumb into it, dragging it down across Keith’s chest. “You know what to do, right, baby?” Keith nods fervently, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No biting this time. You know better.”

Keith smirks around Shiro’s fingers. Shiro reaches down with his other hand, tugging his zipper down and undoing the button of his jeans. He leans back against the door of the bathroom stall, pulling them down just enough to get his dick out (he didn’t wear underwear tonight, he knew he wouldn’t need them) and present it to Keith with a flourish.

“Get me sloppy, sweetheart,” Shiro murmurs lowly, pulling his fingers out of Keith’s mouth. Keith smiles and lunges forward, encasing Shiro in delicious, wet heat. His teeth just barely skim Shiro’s shaft, sending sparks skittering up his rigid spine. His head drops back against the stall door, thudding loud in the quiet bathroom. The only other sound in the room is the messy _schlick schlick_ of Keith’s mouth consuming him. The way the noise bounces off the utilitarian tile surrounding them is obscene, a surround-sound chorus of pleasure that’s never sounded quite so good to Shiro as it does now.

Keith whimpers from below him and Shiro bends forward slightly, just in time to catch the man shoving his hand down his pants to palm at himself.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, settling a hand against Keith’s jaw. “Do you need some attention?”

Keith keeps sucking — he hasn’t been given permission to stop — but he nods his head minutely in acknowledgement. Shiro smirks at him, sinking a hand into his hair and _pulling._ Keith falls away from his dick, panting and gasping, staring up at him with those big, pretty eyes. His chest is heaving, his hand is still in his pants, and Shiro really wishes he hadn’t left his cellphone at the table with Allura. He’d really like a picture of this.

“Stand up,” he commands, tapping a finger beneath Keith’s chin. “Let me take care of you.”

Keith follows his instruction, standing fluidly from the floor and tugging his hand out of his pants in favor of unbuckling them altogether. He shoves the fabric down and away, yanking his boxer briefs down after. Shiro’s mouth waters at the sight of him, erect and proud beneath his hungry gaze. He settles his prosthetic hand over Keith’s hip and yanks him forward, slamming their groins together in a sloppy mess of spit and pre-come. He holds his other hand, palm-up, in front of Keith’s mouth.

“Spit.” Keith does as asked, eyes going impossibly dark. “Good boy.”

Without preamble, Shiro reaches down to gather both of their dicks up in his hand and squeeze. Keith yelps and moans, eyes fluttering shut. That won’t do.

“No, honey,” Shiro growls, resting his forehead against Keith’s. “You’re gonna look at me until we’re done.” Keith’s bright eyes open, shooting right through him, and Shiro pumps his hand. “That’s right. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Keith hums and shudders, gasping into Shiro’s mouth as he jerks them off in tandem. Shiro can feel his knees quaking, knocking into his shins occasionally until he finally tumbles from the edge, crying and murmuring Shiro’s name. Shiro follows shortly after, painting both of their stomachs with thick ribbons of come.

They stay that way, huddled close together, as their breathing evens out.

“You okay, babe?”

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Wha-”

 _“Shiro, c’mon. Are you okay?!”_ Shiro jerks in his seat, Lance snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Man, I’ve been trying to get your attention for like, ten minutes! You good, bro?”

“Obviously not. He’s clearly daydreaming about his boyfriend over there,” Pidge quips.

“Guys, come on,” Shiro pleads with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“Hate to say it, my dude,” Hunk says from beside him, “but you totally were. You weren’t even blinking. I was concerned.”

“How touching.”

“We’re here for ya, bro.”

“I’m not.”

“Thanks, Pidge.”

“Either way,” Lance interrupts, “you better wake the fuck up, because he’s on his way over.”

Shiro looks up and, sure enough, Keith is walking across the room toward where the rest of Team Voltron is gathered. This time around, they’re all together for interviews with various sports publications. It’s contract renewal time, and magazines love to get fresh pictures when everyone is in the same place, so they all got wrangled into ten hours of changing clothes and posing and holding up medals and whatever other buffoonery their sponsors could get them to contractually agree to. Keith is fresh off his portion of their Sports Illustrated shoot, and he looks incredible. Truly. He’s dressed in street clothes, but everything is cut just so that it skims his muscles in all the right ways. He’s effortlessly casual, but still perfectly arranged, and it makes Shiro go weak in the knees.

“Are we almost done or what?” he grumbles, pulling up in front of the group.

Lance rolls his eyes at Keith’s complaint and pokes him in the shoulder. “Not all of us hate the attention, drama king. Besides, this is how you make money in these streets!”

“I don’t care about making money,” Keith argues, crossing his arms. “I just want to climb.”

“You gotta pay the bills somehow,” Shiro points out. Keith looks at him for a moment before relenting.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow at Shiro but remains quiet as she’s called over for her own set of photographs. Shiro knows what that eyebrow means. She won’t address it now, but he’ll for sure hear about it later.


	6. Chapter 6

There come certain points in every person’s life where they simply accept their circumstances. Maybe there are several of these points, maybe only one. Maybe these points happen and that person doesn’t even realize they’ve happened. Sometimes acceptance cloaks itself in an emotion you don’t even realize. Sometimes the acceptance is so drawn out that it’s a constant phase.

Sometimes, acceptance is so shattering that it bookmarks each chapter of someone’s life.

Keith has had exactly two points of circumstantial acceptance thus far. 

He remembers them both with distinct clarity.

The first came to him as a child. With his mother gone and his father dead, Keith had no choice but to accept that he may never be truly loved again. It was histrionic in the way only children can be, especially looking back on it now, but it was no less life changing. Five years of his life spent shunted from foster home to foster home, foster home to group home, group home to street taught him how to be alone.

The precise moment Keith accepted his loveless future happened in the center of the desert in the middle of the night. He’d run away again, out to a local mesa he frequented often to clear his head. As he stared into a cloudless sky, stars twinkling brightly down to Earth, he couldn’t help but remember all the times his father would join him on his stargazing trips. In that moment, the crushing emptiness of the sand, and the endless black of the night wrapped themselves fully around him and he knew, he  _ knew _ he would never be loved like that again. And in that very same moment, he accepted it. It was a simple truth. His lot was set to be a lonely one.

Of course, this was proven false later in college once he met Pidge and learned real friendship. But again, childhood.

The second moment he accepted his circumstances was much less dramatic. It was a simple moment, really. That moment was this: his mother, returned to him after so many years, sitting beside him next to a roaring fire in a New England home. His Uncle Kolivan, seated on the other side of him. A photo album splayed open across his lap, showing him memories and moments he himself had never personally witnessed. His mother laughing until she cried. Kolivan’s own rumble bouncing off the walls of the living room. Keith, looking down at a weathered photo of his parents, smiling as he ran light fingers over the glossy surface. Keith, looking up between the two guardians who recently re-entered his life, but never wanted to leave in the first place. Keith, full of warmth and comfort and happiness. Keith, in a new life.

Acceptance moment the third occurs now, with Keith staring at himself in a mirror.

His phone buzzes in his hand, another message from Shiro, and his chest warms with the vibration.

_ did i ever tell u about the time i broke my ankle? _

Keith fully understands where his feelings are tipping, and there is no more denying what’s happening. He likes Shiro.  _ Like  _ likes Shiro. Beneath his overly flirtatious personality, Shiro is a genuinely nice guy. Their messages have gotten more serious, more substantial, and Keith finds himself often wondering what Shiro’s input on any given situation would be. 

_ No. How’d you do that? _

Keith accepts this change in himself. His instincts have never led him astray, and they tell him that Shiro is hardly the worst thing to ever happen to him.

_ tripping over myself to meet you _

He worries, though, because even if he did move this obvious thing between them forward, there are more pieces at play than just the two of them. He doesn’t want to ruin the team dynamics. According to Pidge, that’s not an issue because there’s something going on between Lance and Allura, but he’s never personally seen evidence of that.

_ No thanks. _

He knows how these things can go. Dating between coworkers of any type can quickly go off the rails. It can wreck all manner of things. He’s got a good thing going with this Voltron contract and he doesn’t want to destroy it.

_ it was worth a shot _

_ That was a shot? _

_ it was something _

_ Hmm. _

It’s getting to him, this whole situation. To the point where he’s having trouble focusing during climbs.

_ anyway i just wanted to say good luck today _

_ you’re going to crush it _

After his third second place finish in as many months, Hunk reaches out to him through Instagram. They get to talking, and it’s just as Keith always assumed it would be. Hunk is amazing — a warm soul and giving to boot — and they hit it off immediately. They swap numbers after a few chats, and Keith finds himself on the phone with Hunk often.

“So, look, dude. I’m glad we’re friends, I really like talking to you, but I need to come clean,” Hunk says over speakerphone one afternoon while Keith drinks water on his back porch.

“Come clean?”

“Yeah, man. We’ve all noticed that you haven’t entirely been...with it.”

“With it.”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re slipping in your rankings. Not a lot! But still. I know how important that is to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” Keith admits with a sigh, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “But what are you getting at?”

“Have you considered maybe just being honest? With Shiro?”

Keith splutters around a sip. “What?”

“Okay, listen. I know you both think you’re being totally subtle about your horrific crushes, but you’re seriously not. So, I dunno. Maybe if you just told him the truth, you could get past whatever this is that you’re going through.”

Keith hums his acknowledgement. There are worse ideas.

“And anyway,” Hunk continues, a hint of slyness to his tone, “if you guys end up dating, the execs would  _ nut  _ over the attention.”

“Hunk, what the fuck?”

Hunk belly laughs across the line. “Oh my god, Keith, what if you two got married? Can you imagine the reception catering? Cans of Voltron as far as the eye can see!”

“I can’t do this.”

Hunk’s tone turns abruptly serious. “Keith, my dude. Of course you can. I know you’re brave, and nobody can stop you when you set your mind to something. I’ve seen it in action.”

“No, Hunk. I mean your nightmare wedding scenario.”

“Oh god, no. I would murder you if you let Voltron butt in on your barbie dream wedding.”

“How kind.”

 

+++

 

There’s something about a surfing competition that Keith can’t describe. It’s incomparable to any other sports’ competition he’s ever attended. It’s raucous and loud, but exciting and fun all the same. The competitors are all kind and outgoing, jovial and supportive in a way Keith hasn’t entirely experienced before.

All of Team Voltron is gathered to support Hunk at the company’s sponsored Open Ocean Faceoff, but it’s not only them. Nearly every exec is in attendance. Lotor included. The very same Lotor who currently has his arm slung over Keith’s shoulder. Keith doesn’t understand why everyone keeps trying to invade his space in the same way, but he absolutely knows he can’t stand it anymore.

“So, anyway, I told him that if he really wanted to get anywhere  _ near  _ a paycheck that size, he’d have to magically double his skill and maybe facial symmetry!” Lotor laughs loud after the statement, as though insulting someone’s abilities and looks is the funniest thing on the planet. Keith doesn’t find it amusing.

Instead, he drops his shoulder so Lotor’s arm will slide off. “I don’t understand why that’s funny.”

“Oh, Keith,” Lotor answers in a too sweet and condescending tone. “You’re just too good for this earth.”

Keith crosses his arms. “I’m really not.”

Lotor smiles and reaches out for him again. “Then maybe you’re just too good for me.”

“Maybe he is,” Shiro interrupts, drawing up next to Keith. Keith hadn’t even noticed him approaching, but his relief is immense. “Then again, you would never agree with that, Lotor.”

Lotor’s eyes narrow. “Shirogane. Congratulations on a successful season. Coming out on top is a real accomplishment for someone your age. You must be pleased.”

“Hmm. Maybe so. But then again, it’s not all about being on top.”

“Well, let’s hope you never see bottom.”

“I’ll let you know the minute I do.”

“Not that all this machismo isn’t fascinating,” Keith drawls, instantly annoyed by the weird pissing contest he’s observing, “because it absolutely is. But I’m not into this at all. So, Lotor, I’m not interested. Shiro, I’ll see you around.”

And with that, he walks away.

It’s not entirely truthful, what he said. Lotor’s brand of self satisfaction and shitty insults isn’t Keith’s flavor at all. But he has to admit, somewhere deep down within himself, that Shiro swooping in to help him out was...really nice. Keith wouldn’t entirely mind Shiro always being around to help him deal with whatever comes along.

And there’s the bomb.

Keith can’t deny anymore that he’s in full-on crush mode, verging on more than that, and that’s reason enough to panic. Shiro is amazing, he’s wonderful, he’s kind of perfect (he’s not, but rose colored glasses and all that). Shiro is obviously into Keith. He’s made no secret of how he feels.

So, it’s not a security sort of issue. He’s still so afraid of what it would do to the team, what it would expose them to if they started seeing each other.

“Keith! Keith, wait!” Shiro’s voice chases Keith down the beach. The palm trees sway in the breeze around them as Shiro kicks up sand in his rush to get to Keith. “Hold up!” He does. Shiro reaches him in seconds, bending over to settle his palms against his knees while he catches his breath. “Look,” he pants, looking up at Keith. “I’m sorry. That was supremely awful of me to do. I just. I just saw him making you uncomfortable, and I did what felt right, you know?”

“I can handle myself.”

Shiro’s eyes soften immeasurably. “Of course you can. That’s what I like about you.”

Keith’s breath stills in his chest. He watches quietly as Shiro rises to his full height.

“So, can I have your number now? Or am I gonna have to work harder?”

Keith smiles and pulls out his phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, huge shoutout to [AniDragon](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/423903) for this chapter's art! <3!

Keith has the type of skin Hollywood housewives would kill for. It’s tanned and smooth, covered in the lightest dusting of freckles, unmarred by blemishes. He’s warm and pliant in the morning, limbs radiating heat beneath the covers. This is what spurs Shiro on as he runs his hands over Keith’s bare sides and tugs him back against against his chest. Keith hums happily, muffled by the pillow pressed to his cheek.

“Good morning, baby,” Shiro mutters into the smooth column of his neck.

“Good morning,” Keith mumbles back, voice touched by the smile creeping across his face. He shifts back, tucking himself further into the fold of Shiro’s embrace, the nodules of his spine slotting perfectly along the center of Shiro’s torso. Shiro is half-hard and wanting, much like he often is when Keith is tucked up close to his body, but he knows better than to say anything. Keith will acknowledge it when he’s ready.

“I was thinking,” Shiro begins, spurned on by Keith’s warmth and the thought of the package he received in the mail a week ago, “that maybe we could try something?”

“Oh yeah?” Keith asks quietly, rolling his ass back into Shiro’s hips. “And what is that?”

“I, um. I got you something.”

“Like a present? What’d you get?” Keith’s voice wakes up, fully alert at the thought of getting something new. Shiro reluctantly turns away, rummaging through his bedside table to find the object on his mind. He finds it, the soft rope silky in his grasp. When he turns back, Keith is watching him carefully, waiting for his next words.

“I watched something last week and I just kept thinking about how good you’d look like that, y’know?”

“I don’t. Tell me.” Keith looks at the rope, eyes blazing hot at the soft purple fibers wrapped around Shiro’s fist. “Baby, what were you watching without me?”

Shiro gulps, throat clicking dry under the weight of Keith’s gaze. “I wanna tie you up.”

Keith narrows his eyes, face flushing bright red at Shiro’s words. He reaches out, fingers brushing lightly over the rope in Shiro’s hand, blush spreading out down his neck and chest.

“Do it.”

Shiro’s ready for this. Okay, he’s not _entirely_ ready for this. He’d read a lot of articles, looked up a lot of details. He knows the logistics of it all. But, he hadn’t exactly thought about the prospect of Keith agreeing. It locks his system up a bit, knowing he won’t have to argue to get his way on this experiment.

“I'm not going to do anything too crazy,” he says, slowly stripping Keith of his sleep clothes. “Just your hand and feet. But if you don't like it, you tell me to stop and we stop.”

He unfurls the length of rope in his hands, and Keith gasps beneath him.

“I don't think that'll be a problem.”

Shiro smirks down at him.

“Good.”

He lays the rope aside, to be used soon, and instead focuses on lifting Keith's hands to his mouth, pressing reverent kisses to the knuckles and delicate bones of his wrists. Keith watches him with rapt attention, sighing at each flutter of Shiro’s lips on his skin.

“Good, baby?” Shiro asks, trailing his mouth from Keith's wrist down to the tip of his middle finger, sucking it in his mouth. Keith groans loud, and Shiro takes it as a yes.

He drops the digit from his mouth, instead reaching to position Keith's hands behind his back. The front of his shirt brushes Keith's half-hard dick, and the man shudders beneath him, gasping at the contact. Shiro quirks a brow at him.

“You're so easy, baby. Be a good boy and leave these here for me.” Shiro pats Keith's hands and leaves them behind his back, running his fingers further south along the curves and planes of Keith's body, manipulating him until he lays on his side. He avoids his groin completely, instead skimming the very tips of his fingers down the insides of Keith's thighs.

Keith's breathing goes shaky and uneven as Shiro reaches his ankles and grips _hard._

“You like that, sweetheart?”

Keith nods in response, but it's not enough. It's not what Shiro expects.

“Use your words, honey. Do you like this?” He tugs Keith's ankles again, maneuvering them together and bending then back behind Keith's thighs.

“God, yes,” Keith moans, body dropping loose and pliant at Shiro's manipulation.

Shiro smiles and bends down over Keith's body, snagging the rope from their sheets and nipping at Keith's hip bone. Keith whines and Shiro's smile sharpens.

“Good. You'll love this, then.”

He pushes Keith's ankles further up behind his back, linking them up just the way the instructions said to do, and sets to work tying his wrists and ankles together with a single length of the rope connecting them.

Once he's done, Shiro sits back on his haunches to admire his handiwork. Keith looks so pretty, trussed up like a holiday meal, sweating and shaking beneath Shiro's burning gaze. He wasn't sure how this would go when he first had the idea, but now Shiro knows without a doubt that they'll be doing it again.

He reaches down, spreading his fingers out wide against Keith's body, and just runs his hands across the smooth expanse of him. Shiro presses his touch everywhere, over Keith's chest, along his back, down the soft swell of his perfect ass. His mouth waters as he goes, growing in intensity each time Keith sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation.

Shiro stands from the bed, tugging his shirt off and rooting through the bedside drawer for their lube. He tosses the bottle down right front of Keith's face.

“Hold on to that for me, won't you baby?”

Keith whines again, louder this time, and his eyes water as Shiro pushes his pants down and off his legs, revealing himself in all his glory. He purposely didn't wear underwear for this, and he's so glad he didn't.

He's impossibly hard and disturbingly in love as he stalks across the room to take care of the beautiful man who's placed all his trust in him this way. Keith watches the bob of Shiro's cock as he approaches, absentmindedly licking his lips. Shiro huffs a laugh, kneeling down where Keith's knees are bent.

“Not today, precious. I have something special planned for you.” Keith watches curiously as Shiro bends down, grabbing the strand of rope tying his ankle to his wrists. “You're going to get up now, baby.”

He sinks his free hand into Keith's hair and _pulls_ both hands back sharply, tugging Keith upright. It's wobbly and uncoordinated, and as a small laugh escapes Keith's lips, he ponders briefly on how he never thought to look this part up.

Still, he manages to get him upright, poised on bent knees with his shoulders arched backward toward where his ankles and wrists are bound. His beautiful body is on full display, and Shiro just can't help himself when he trails his mouth down from Keith's sternum to his navel to his groin, wrapping his lips around his dick and sucking lightly.

Keith comes alive beneath his touching, crying out and bucking his hips to sink further into Shiro's hot mouth. Shiro draws off immediately, giving Keith a loving kiss just on the head.

He reaches for the lube, smirking up at Keith's frantic expression. “Not yet, baby. You'll get yours, don't worry.”

Shiro pops the cap open and squirts an excessive amount of lube into his hand. He doesn't rub it, just leaves it fresh and cold as he parts Keith's thighs and rubs it between them, occasionally coming up to flick his fingers across Keith's dick. When he's pleased with his handiwork, Shiro leans forward, pressing the entire front of his body against Keith's as he kisses him long and deep. He pulls back once Keith starts mindlessly during against him.

“I'm gonna fuck your thighs now, sweetheart.”

Keith moans hard and watches frantically while Shiro shoves his legs together and thrusts in between them without warning. He's right and hot like this, all helpless and vulnerable. Shiro groans at the sensation of his smooth skin beneath and one and all around him. Keith's dick presses hard into his stomach as Shiro strokes himself off between his thighs.

Shiro pushes faster and harder, working himself closer and closer to the edge he so desperately wants to fling himself from.

“T-takashi, baby, I'm gonna-” Keith pants, cutting himself off as Shiro gives a pointed thrust into him. Shiro can feel his balls drawing up tight, ready to empty themselves across that perfect skin. He reaches up, tangling his fingers into Keith's silky, mussed up hair.

“Don't you dare,” he growls dangerously. “You don't come until I say you do.”

“Oh my god, Shiro, _fuck.”_

Shiro snaps his hips relentlessly, teetering on a knifepoint. “Say my name, baby.”

“Takashi, holy shit. Takashi,” Keith chants, and that does it. Shiro thrusts forward one, two more times and comes hard between Keith's legs, spilling himself all over thigh and ankle and rope alike.

Keith shudders and moans, hips pushing forward into Shiro's stomach. He leaves the mess for later, turning his attention to Keith's reddened face. Shiro strokes a hand calmly along his cheek, shuffling back until he's too far away for Keith to reach.

“You were so good for me, honey. Such a good boy. Are you ready to come now?”

“Yes, please. Oh my god, I need it.”

“Of course you do,” Shiro affirms lovingly, and bends down, deepthroating Keith in one smooth motion.

Keith shouts, writhing against the friction of his bonds and during forward to press further into Shiro's mouth. It doesn't take much, a few deep sucks, until Keith is spilling himself down Shiro's throat with a musical cry and flipping over on his side.

Shiro smiles, gulping in air and wiping his mouth as he sits back up properly, smiling down at Keith's spent form. His eyes are closed, chest heaving as he pants in air, and he's never looked more beautiful or more of a mess.

Shiro leans down over him on hands and knees and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You like that, babe?”

“Holy shit, yes.”

“You wanna do it again sometime?”

“Only if I can tie you up.”

“That can be arranged.”

Shiro gasps himself awake. He can’t do this anymore. Not only is waking up dripping in sweat and shaking over his mind’s latest attempt at torture extremely uncomfortable, but he also can’t handle not being honest anymore.

He wants Keith. He wants him so bad he can taste it on his tongue every time they meet. Keith is his own special brand of drug, and he can’t wait anymore to take a hit. He’s gotta come clean. He has to tell Keith how he feels and let the chips fall where they may. At least then, if he gets declined, he can start to piece his heart back together and move along. Putting himself in this limbo for as long as he has can’t be good for his health.

So, it’s decided. He’s gonna tell him. He’ll just...walk right up to Keith and say, _Hey, what’s up, I like you so much, I want to shove my face in your ass until I need to come up for air._

No. That’s too aggressive.

_Hey, Keith. I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re so funny and deep and your shoulders destroy my sense of direction every time I look at them._

Ugh.

_Hey, Keith, did you know I sit awake at night and dream about the freckles on your skin? They look like constellations, Keith. You’re made of stars, Keith. Can I please touch your thighs, Keith?_

Gross.

Okay, okay, so maybe he won’t plan out what he’ll say. He’ll just say it and hope for the best.

Great plan. He can totally do this.

 

+++

 

Shiro’s first shot at admitting his feelings comes when Team Voltron gets together yet again for a press event.

Keith is in the middle of answering questions about his favorite gear to wear while he climbs, and Shiro can only watch, helpless on the sideline, while Keith smiles large and happy, eyes shining as he describes the best carabiner he’s ever used in his entire life.

Aside from holding his keys, Shiro doesn’t even know what a carabiner is for. It doesn’t matter, though, with the way Keith talks about them. They sound wonderful.

Keith wraps up his answer, the interviewers eyes slightly glossy after the tsunami of words that poured off of Keith’s lips. It’s understandable, really. Keith rarely talks for so long of a stretch at once, and it’s dizzying to see him truly let go and open up. Even if it is about random climbing accessories.

The interviewer thanks him for his time and wanders off, presumably to find a less chatty subject. Keith is left alone at his interview table, playing around on his phone momentarily. He’s totally alone, with nobody approaching, and this is it. This is Shiro’s chance. He makes to gather his things, to head over and ask Keith if he can have a moment of his time. He slings his backpack over his shoulders and scoops up his folder of information, making to stand from his seat. Keith looks up from his phone, catching Shiro’s eye and smiling as he seems to realize where Shiro is headed. He shoots him a little wave, beckoning him over. Shiro returns it happily, turning to walk his way and—

“Good afternoon, Mister Shirogane! I noticed you were all alone, and we can’t have that! Do you have a moment for Downhill Powder magazine?”

Shiro sighs internally, willing himself not to close his eyes with annoyance as he turns back to the peppy journalist perched at his table. He plasters on his best smile and sets his things back down with resignation. He glances back at Keith as he takes his seat once more, and tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach at the disappointment written all over the other man’s face.

The questions go on for much longer than a single moment. They all get a little more invasive than Shiro is totally comfortable with. He finds himself shutting down lines of questioning much more than he actually answers any of the questions. It’s obvious to him that this interview is more about trying to pry personal information out of him rather than asking after his current favorite gear or music, as the interviews so often are. It’s annoying, to be sure, but part of the job.

By the time he finishes swerving out of dangerous territory, he looks out the window of the conference room to find that it’s already dark outside. Only a few people remain in the hall, mostly Team Voltron and their attached publicists and sponsor reps. The Downhill journalist finally thanks him for his time and takes her leave, and Shiro heaves a deep sigh of relief. He’s exhausted, having performed all sorts of mental and verbal gymnastics, and he just wants to go to bed and hide until his flight in the morning. The giant, soft mattress in his hotel room sounds incredible right about now.

Knuckles rap softly against the surface of his table, breaking Shiro out of his stupor. He follows the familiar knuckles up to find Keith smiling softly down at him.

“You alright, buddy?”

Shiro huffs a laugh. “Barely.”

“I can tell. We’re all gonna grab some dinner together, you wanna tag along?”

Dinner actually sounds way better than sleep right now. Shiro’s stomach agrees, gurgling loudly at Keith’s words. He laughs at Shiro and tugs him up out of his seat. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go get you some carbs or something.”

Keith tugs Shiro over to the rest of the team, waiting for them to join, and it’s all Shiro can do to keep himself from drooling. Keith is so _strong._ Obviously he’s strong, he hauls his own body weight around for a living, but god. He pulled all two hundred pounds of Shiro out of his seat no problem. Shiro bets Keith could throw him all over the place without even breaking a sweat. His palms go clammy at the thought.

“Finally!” Lance crows. “I thought you’d never stop talking to her!”

“God, neither did I,” Shiro agrees.

“From where I sat, it didn’t really look like she cared so much about your answers,” Pidge pipes up. “If you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“ _Oh, Shiiiiroooo,_ ” she croons in a high pitched voice, holding her hands to her cheeks and dramatically fluttering her lashes. “ _Please, tell me all about your favorite shoelaces, and your childhood, and your blood type! Do you like pasta? I love pasta. You wanna eat some pasta?_ And then you’re all”—she drops her voice into a dramatic imitation of Shiro—“ _Oh, man, I love shoelaces. My childhood is but a mystery you must unlock. I will reveal my blood type only to my beloved! Pasta is delicious, I would love to eat some pasta right. Now._ ”

Shiro laughs, playfully shoving her away. “Quit it, Katie. It wasn’t like that.”

“It kind of was,” Keith says quietly. His voice is even, totally devoid of emotion, but his jaw is strung tight. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

But of course he didn’t notice. There’s only one person he would care to notice flirtation from, and it’s the only person who hasn’t given him any. But here it is. His chance to finally pull Keith aside and come clean. A chance to spill his gross, mushy guts all over the floor and hope Keith will help him clean up the mess.

“Keith, I—”

“You look exhausted,” Keith interrupts. “We should go.”

He turns on a heel and walks out of the conference room, leaving a slightly confused Shiro and completely unsurprised Team Voltron behind.

“What—”

“Shiro, you fucking moron,” Pidge says.

“Yeah man, that was not smooth,” Lance agrees.

“You gotta put us out of our misery, bro,” Hunk says, clapping a heavy hand down on Shiro’s shoulder.

“What?”

“Shiro,” Allura says gently. “Sweetheart. I love you so much. Please do something. Make a move. _Please._ We’re begging you.”

“...I’m trying.”

 

+++

 

Dinner is a calm affair, if not a touch uncomfortable. Shiro’s unsure how to bridge the chasm that now lies between himself and Keith. He’s still not entirely sure what, precisely, caused it. What made Keith’s attitude turn on a dime? He didn’t seem bothered about the interview at all, until Pidge started talking about it the way she did. Shiro wants to know. He’s dying of curiosity, but he can’t just ask about it across the dinner table. Not in front of everyone. Keith would hate him for it.

So he waits. They pass through dinner, eventually settling into happy chatter about their upcoming work and things they still need to do. Keith tells them all about his cat, Red, and very good boy, Dog.

“Dog?” Lance asks, spraying breadcrumbs across the table from his fresh bite of breadstick. “You named your dog _Dog_?”

“Well, I figure he’ll tell me his name when he’s ready.”

“Keith, what kind of crazy ass dog do you have?”

Keith’s eyes light up brighter than the sun during his summer climbs. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling as he talks. “He’s a mutt, really. I didn’t want to pay for a DNA test, but he’s a mix of all sorts of things, by my guess. Here.”

He passes his phone across the table to Lance, gesturing for him to flick through a few different photos. Shiro peers over his shoulder and smiles at all the photos of Keith and his very good boy cuddling on several assorted surfaces. The dog is _huge,_ more wolf-sized than anything. The Keith in every photo looks down at him with a parent’s love in his eyes. In one particular photo, Red is curled up in the fur on the dog’s back, while the dog curls up on Keith’s back, while Keith lays splayed out, face down on the floor. They all look so happy together, like a complete little family.

“Kosmo,” Lance announces, passing the phone off to Pidge.

“What?” Keith asks, confusion laced across his tone.

“Kosmo. He looks like a Kosmo to me.”

“That’s awful.”

“With a K.”

“That’s even worse.”

Dinner wraps up quickly after that, with everyone needing to get ready to fly back out. They part ways in the parking lot, sharing quick hugs and fist bumps as they go. Before he can get away, though, Shiro reaches out for Keith, stopping himself just short of taking his hand.

“Hey, Keith? Do you have a minute?” Keith pauses, brows furrowed, but ultimately nods assent. He stays behind while everyone else parts, leveling Shiro with significant looks that he chooses to ignore. Once they’re alone, Keith’s shoulders tense up a bit. He looks about ready to bolt at any moment, so Shiro tries his best to make it quick.

“I, uh. Phew, okay.” Amazing. So eloquent. Incredible. “Wow, okay, I thought this would be easier.”

Keith tenses up even further. It’s not a good sign, and Shiro wants to deck himself right in the face for screwing this up as monumentally as he’s doing.

“Whatever you need to say, you can just say, Shiro.”

Yikes.

“Right. Right, okay. Look, Keith. You don’t have to do anything about it at all, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t been anything but transparent about this, but I like you. A lot, actually? And it’s been going on for a long time, and I just kind of. I needed to tell you before I lost my nerve.” Keith looks on at him, silent, but surprised. “You don’t have to do anything about it, you know? I would never expect you to. But, I had to get it off my chest.”

“I—wow. I don’t really know what to say.”

Well. That reaction could have been better. But Shiro understands. He gets it. Keith is a dazzling, shining star, and Shiro has all this baggage. Keith hasn’t had time to really garner a reputation, and Shiro has had years upon years of misunderstandings and incorrect characterizations. Even if they’ve made headway, he understands how Keith could internalize that. Shiro sighs.

“Look, I get it. I do. I just needed to say something, because it’s been killing me. I’d still like to be friends, if you’d be comfortable with that? I just really, _really_ like you, and I’d like you to stick around in my life, if that’s something you’d be okay with doing.”

“Shiro. I’ll always be your friend. You’re a good guy. This just—this is just a lot. I really don’t know how to answer you. I, um. I need some time to figure it out, you know?”

“That’s okay. Thank you for hearing me out, anyway.”

Keith pats Shiro’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Of course, Shiro. I’ll—I’ll see you around.”

Shiro watches Keith walk away. As he hops in his rental car, Shiro curses himself for saying anything. He should have known he didn’t have a chance. And even if he said he’d stick around, Shiro knows Keith won’t. He’s gone and made things awkward between them and the blame falls solely on his shoulders for that.

It hurts.


	8. Chapter 8

Keith is a damn, dirty liar and he hates himself.

Of course he knew how to answer Shiro. Is he kidding himself? Shiro is Keith’s ideal. He’s better than the tabloids make him out to be. He’s soft and kind, even if he doesn’t seem so at first. Keith’s watched his many interactions with everyone around him, and it’s a fact immutable that Shiro is a gentle soul. The whole fuckboy aura can’t tarnish that, although it does confuse the fact a little bit.

Still, Keith has to be smart about this. He really needs to take his time and consider just what it would mean were he to get involved with someone like Shiro. Keith has never been anything but a long haul kind of guy. Maybe that makes him a hopeless romantic, maybe it makes him foolish and naive, but it’s just who he is. Keith is careful in all things, relationships most of all. He needs time to cultivate and care for them, to grow them into hardy and stalwart fixtures. Keith will stay in someone’s life as long as they allow, but cracking himself open to get there is always a terrifying venture. Anyone can leave at any time, and it hurts every time they do.

But Shiro is trying so hard.

Shiro gave Keith space after their conversation outside the restaurant a few weeks back. He’s sent good morning texts, a few funny memes, and well wishes before Keith’s important events, but he’s largely stepped back and allowed Keith room to breathe. It’s just enough space for Keith to figure himself out completely and get on even ground. It’s another gesture of kindness that takes Keith by surprise.

“You know, instead of being surprised by how nice he is, you could just tell Shiro that,” Pidge deadpans over the phone. “Or, you know, admit you wanna jump his bones.”

“Pidge,” Keith warns.

“No, Keith. Seriously. I’m sick of you mooning, but not really mooning, but not hiding it very well? Now I’ve confused myself. What I’m saying is that I get it. I really do. I know how hard it is for you to let people in, but do you really believe all that bullshit out there about him? Even after all this time? He’s cracked his ribs open for you, Keith. It’s disgusting. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Of course I don’t believe it.” And he truly doesn’t. Keith knows Shiro now. He knows who he is as a person, and he understands the need for his persona. He also knows that Shiro hasn’t seen anyone in ages, and that means something. What it means is still a little nebulous to Keith, but he knows it’s significant.

“Then tell him that. Throw the man a bone, Keith. He’s starving.”

“Yeah, man!” Hunk calls in the background.

“Pidge, what the fuck. Hunk is there?”

“That’s not important,” she says too casually. Keith narrows his eyes at her tone, but doesn’t mention it. “What is important is the fact that you’re tearing yourself apart over this when it could be so easy for you.”

Keith sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not wrong, Keith,” Hunk pipes up.

Okay, no. Keith isn’t going to be magnanimous. Just because he’s chilled out doesn’t mean he can’t be spiteful. “Why are you two even together? I know you don’t have anything going on in the same place right now.”

Pidge clears her throat.

“Well?” Keith prompts.

“We, uh...we have a thing!” Hunk says frantically. “It’s absolutely a thing. It’s a real, tangible, actual thing. And we have it. So, like, no big deal.”

“Smooth, Hunk,” Pidge murmurs. “Look, Keith. Unlike _some people_ on this godforsaken planet, some of us can admit how we feel.”

Well, okay then. Keith feels cowed by the statement, but also a little annoyed that this is the first he’s hearing about this change. He thought he and Pidge were closer than that. Has he abandoned her? Has this whole thing made her pull away from him? His thoughts start to spiral, a little funnel of panic pouring him down his own drain.

“Jesus, Keith, I can hear you thinking. I didn’t say anything to you, because I honestly wasn’t sure yet. Hunk and I ended up talking before I had a chance to talk to you. That’s all.”

“Yeah, man. Sorry to send you into an existential crisis or whatever. You’re still our favorite rock lizard.”

“Hiss hiss,” Pidge agrees.

“Lizards don’t hiss.”

“Don’t they, Keith?”

“No. They don’t.”

“Well you certainly do. Look, just take some time for yourself. Figure out where you are and come back to it, but you really need to straighten your shit out. I’m worried about you.”

That gives Keith pause. The last thing he wants is to affect Pidge. She’s so good to him, and she doesn’t deserve stress over his dumb emotions. She’s right. He’s got to get a handle on this and take care of it. He’s straightforward with everything else in his life, so why not this?

Right. Time to take the bull by the horns.

“You’re right. I’ll handle it.”

“Good. I love you, dummy.”

“I love you too, Pidge.”

“Aww, this is so touching!”

“Shut up, Hunk! Bye, Keith.”

Keith laughs as Hunk continues to babble about their friendship in the background. “Bye, Katie.”

Right. Time to face this down.

 

+++

 

Just because he knows he has to handle this situation doesn’t mean Keith actually knows _how._

He’d never imagined himself as the type to have a nuclear meltdown, but then again, people very often don’t know their true selves until they hit a crisis. He’s had a few, sure, but none of this variety.

Things were fine there for a bit. They really were. He took baby steps toward addressing the situation. He and Shiro texted more, they talked on the phone more often than Keith can remember ever speaking to anyone. They’d grown incredibly close as friends. Keith finds himself relying on Shiro’s words more often than he ever thought he could do with anyone, even Pidge.

But now, Keith knows he’s in trouble. Because Keith knows he’s pretty much in love.

It wasn’t one of those realizations like they always show in the movies. It was slow dawning, a creeping sort of growth. A crush is a crush, but love? The kind of thing that keeps you smitten even when someone is gross or tired or cranky? That’s terrifying.

And Keith doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s a bundle of nerves all wrapped up in a glare.

So he withdraws. It’s not brave. It’s not even smart. But Keith has no other reactionary instinct.

Keith makes himself scarce to everyone. Shiro texts and calls constantly, but Keith skitters away from the contact, eventually not answering at all. He only leaves home to attend competitions and required events, but he keeps to himself and only stays as long as he needs. He cringes every time he sees the hurt written across Shiro’s features, but he still forces himself to turn away.

_keith_

_keith, please_

_what did i do?_

_are you okay?_

_please just tell me youre okay_

It sucks and it’s stupid, and Keith knows it.

But he’s backed himself into a corner and he’s unsure of how to get out.

 

+++

 

It’s a quiet Wednesday night when Keith’s phone rings from between the cushions of his couch. He’s buried under a mountain of fur and blankets, watching tv with his babies. He’s distracted by the documentary and Dog’s intermittently wagging tail smacking him in the face, so he doesn’t even look at the screen as he fishes his phone out and hits answer.

“Keith?”

Keith’s stomach goes cold. It’s Shiro.

“Keith, you there?” Shiro’s voice is blurry around the edges, slightly slurred. He must be drunk. Keith sighs.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Hi, Keith.” Keith can hear the smile in Shiro’s voice, the fondness painted all over it. “Keith, what did I do wrong?” Just as quickly as the greeting ends, his tone changes to hurt.  He sounds so small and sad. Keith cringes, catching Dog’s attention. A wet nose pushes into his side. He scritches behind a fluffy ear in appreciation for the dog’s worry.

“Shiro—”

“I just don’t understand, Keith. I thought there was something there, you know? I thought maybe we were—were headed somewhere. But like, somewhere nice, you know? Somewhere special, with sun and palm trees and those drinks they put little umbrellas in.”

“Shiro, you’re drunk.”

“Fucking of course I am! That’s not important.”

“Nah, it’s pretty important. How much have you had to drink tonight? Are you safe?”

“Not important!” He singsongs. “‘M fine, though. Matty is here.”

“Matty.”

“Repeating.”

“I sure am.”

“Keith. _Keeiiith._ Have I ever told you how much I like you?”

“You may have mentioned it.” He really shouldn’t entertain this. He should really tell Shiro to go drink some water, sober up, call him back when he can think straight and remember what he says. But he can’t; Keith knows he wouldn’t answer. He owes Shiro at least this much.

“I admire you so much, Keith. I think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Keith can’t help the flutter of his stomach at that. Shiro might not remember this, Keith knows, and maybe it’s a little shitty, but he can’t help the desire to lean into it just a little bit. “Really, now?”

“Holy shit, _yes,_ ” Shiro answers fervently. Keith can practically hear his head nodding along with the words. “Keith, you’re so gorgeous. You’re so... _strong._ Have you ever seen your shoulders, Keith? Have you ever just... _seen them?_ I would write you a poem about those shoulders. Would you like that? I could do it. There once was a boy with strong shoulders—”

“I’m not a boy, Shiro.”

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that? You’re a fucking tease is what you are,” he accuses. A small flame of anger erupts in Keith’s chest.

“You listen to me, Shiro. I don’t know what the hell is going on right now, but I don’t appreciate—”

“Well, _I_ don’t appreciate being confused like this! You know I haven’t slept with anyone in a year? A whole year, Keith! And it’s all your fault because nobody else is good enough. Nobody else stacks up to you!”

Keith doesn’t know what to do with that information. It’s flattering, but it’s also one of those weird, kind of gross things drunk dudes say when they’re trying to impress you. It’s not a good look on Shiro. Still, Keith sort of positioned himself here, so maybe he deserves this as repentance.

“Shiro—”

“Takashi.”

“What?”

“Please. Just once. Can you just call me by my name just this once?”

This is dangerous. It’s a bad idea and Keith knows it. He hopes Shiro doesn’t remember this.

“Takashi.”

Shiro sighs blissfully across the line.

“Thank you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“No. You know, I’ve been thinking about retiring.”

The admission shocks Keith. Shiro is still pretty young, all things considered. He could still have several good years in his sport. There’s still so much time for him to set more records, gain more notoriety, gather more wealth. But if there’s one thing Keith has learned about Shiro in the past months, it’s that that’s not really his style. It’s still a surprise to hear him say this, though.

“Seriously? Why?”

“Keith, I’m so _tired._ I turn thirty in a couple years. And yeah, that’s not old at all, but I feel fucking ancient. There’s a ton of new kids coming up, and maybe it’s time to give them their spotlight, you know? I’m just exhausted, and I’m ready to move on. I’ve been thinking about settling down.”

“Settling down?”

“Mmm, It’s not a new thought. I mean, okay. I think about it every few months or so. But then I think, I’ve worked so hard to get where I am. Am I ready to let that go? I dunno. It’s not like I’ve really had anyone totally worth that before. I’ve been all over the world for years and years, and it’s like I’ve been on this crazy huge search even though I didn’t actually _know_ I was, but then I didn’t need to search anymore. I need to go. I gotta leave, but I don’t wanna do it alone.”

Keith can feel it, where they are. They’re on the verge of a very large admission, teetering on the edge of a chasm Keith doesn’t want to fall into with a drunk Shiro. He needs to do this with a sober Takashi. He has to salvage this. He can’t let Shiro do this to himself. To them. It’s not what either of them would want.

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what I mean. You shut me out.”

Keith sighs. Shiro is right. This is Keith’s fault, them being so lost and hopeless right now. He thinks about Shiro’s words, about his neverending desire to move on to another phase of his life. A new chapter of the story of Takashi Shirogane.

Maybe Keith could be a part of that.

“You’re right. And I’m sorry. But, Shiro—”

“Nope!” Shiro interrupts, popping the p. “Not my name!”

“...Takashi. We can’t have this talk now. Not while you’re drunk. You deserve better than that.” _You deserve everything_ goes unsaid, but Keith hopes his tone telegraphs the thought.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks hopefully. Keith smiles.

“Yeah. We’ll talk when you’re sober, Takashi.”

“ _Keith._ ”

“Goodnight, Shiro.”

A pause.

“Night, Keith.”

 

+++

 

There’s a shift between them, after the phone call.

Shiro doesn’t bring it up again, but Keith knows he remembers. He sees it in the way Shiro looks at him from across a room, hears it in the way Shiro says his name when they speak on the phone, feels it in the way Shiro begins to touch him constantly — a hand absently settled on his arm or shoulder or back.

They get bolder each time they see each other, flirting shamelessly at press events, joking around when they cheer each other on at competitions. The day Keith climbs his way back to first place worldwide, Shiro slings an arm around his waist, tugging him close until they stand chest to chest. His smile is beatific, focused fully down on Keith.

“I’m so proud of you,” Shiro whispers, and Keith is gone. He wants that whisper, that pride, forever. He wants to bottle it up and hang it from a necklace so he can uncork it whenever he’s lonely. He wants to carry that same pride in his heart like a charm.

The fan blogs and rumor mill tabloids are ruthless in their speculation. Social media explodes in conversation about them.

 **@ShirozTrueFan**   **|**   _Did you see that hug? That is not the hug of two guys being bros. That is the hug of two dudes who touch wieners at night._

 **@powderpuff94 |** @ShirozTrueFan  _That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting._

 **@ShirozTrueFan |** @powderpuff94  _But am I wrong???_

 **@powderpuff94 |** @ShirozTrueFan  _Dude, they’re like...brothers. Shiro’s Keith’s mentor on Team Voltron._

 **@whatever4evr |** @powderpuff94 @ShirozTrueFan _Okay, but who ever said that meant they couldn’t be more?_

 **@powderpuff94 |** @ShirozTrueFan@whatever4evr  _You’re all monsters._

If Keith thought the blog chatter was bad, Pidge and Hunk are even worse. Pidge constantly calls (Hunk shouting in the background every time) and texts Keith, sending him pictures of the two of them staring lovingly at each other.

_When are you guys gonna admit it?_

_I have no idea what you’re talking about, Katie._

_Says the liar._

_We just aren’t there yet._

_Yet._

_Goddammit._

_I’m happy for you, you know. You’re good for each other._

_Yeah, Yeah._

Lance is surprisingly mum about the whole situation.

“He’s just glad that it’s not about him this time,” Allura stage whispers at a party one night. “We went through this same thing a few years back.”

“Allura!”

“What? Am I lying?”

It’s when the speculation bleeds into interviews that Keith has to admit defeat.

“So,” the interviewer from ESPN starts conspiratorially. Keith’s surprised his eyebrows don’t waggle suggestively with his tone. He feels it coming, a shift in his tone and expression that warns of impending danger. “There are rumors of romance on Team Voltron!”

“Yeah, Lance and Allura are very happy together,” he deadpans.

“I think we both know that’s not what I’m referring to, Keith!”

Of course Keith knows, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a shithead about it. Pidge and Hunk recently went public, thankfully. “Oh, so you mean Team Punk? Yeah, they’re doing real well. Thank you for asking. I’m proud of them.”

The interviewer sighs, dropping his line of questioning.

_i saw your interview_

_very skilled_

_nice avoidance_

_*chef’s kiss*_

_Shiro…_

_you’re going to the espys this year, right_

_You know I am._

_i’ll see you there, keith_

Keith can feel the undertone in the words. The ESPYs are in two weeks. Everyone in any sort of sport that ESPN covers will be there. The whole of Team Voltron will be there.

It’s on.


	9. Chapter 9

The night before the ESPYs, Voltron has a corporate banquet planned in order to rope in more athletes and flex their monetary muscles.

Shiro’s running a little late because his plane got held up in Dallas, so the rest of the team is already in attendance by the time he pushes through the front doors, adjusting a rolled up cuff of his dress shirt. He gets it where he wants it, finally, and when he looks up, it’s to find Keith’s eyes trained directly on him.

Which is fine. It’s totally okay. Nothing strange here.

Except there’s a fire in that gaze, burning bright and hot. It’s unusual and new, and Shiro knows he’s not the only one to notice. He sees Lance elbow Hunk in the background, but fully ignores it in favor of watching Keith stalk across the room to him with determination writ all over his person.

“Shiro,” he says seriously as he stops a foot away. There’s a glass of wine clutched in his hand, and Shiro can’t help but wonder if it’s the first of the night or not.

“Keith.” He can’t help the smile that spreads its way across his mouth. Several people are observing them now, but he can hardly bring himself to care. He reaches out to squeeze Keith’s forearm in greeting, Keith tracking the movement as he goes.

“God, you’re so hot,” Keith whines, staring at Shiro’s bicep. It startles a laugh out of him, even as his stomach swoops at the words. So, not the first glass.

“You think so?” he asks instead, hoping to cover his nerves.

“Hell yeah. You know I’ve always admired you? From the first moment I saw you, there was this thing...like, this thing, you know?”

He does, but he’s going to play it off.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. You wanna describe it?”

“Not really.” Keith smirks, and it hits Shiro that he’s actually standing here, in a room full of other people, openly flirting with Keith. A Keith that he highly suspects is drunk, but hey, tit for tat, he supposes. Keith owes him payback for that stunt he pulled on the phone a few months back.

“That’s fair,” Shiro says, reaching out and plucking the glass from Keith’s hand. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut you off, buddy. I think you might be a little drunk.”

Keith shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe so.”

“How about we go hang out with everyone else, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Keith follows close to Shiro, his body heat seeping across the scant few inches between them, sinking into Shiro’s skin and warming him from the inside out. Pidge and Matt both throw him the same meaningful look, but he ignores it.

 

+++

 

The next morning, a frantic knock pounds across Shiro’s hotel room door. He’s not expecting anyone, but judging by the weight of the banging, he figures it must be important. He hops out of bed, still in just his boxers, and rushes to the door. He flings it open to find a very dishevelled Keith, leaning with one hand on the door frame, slightly panting.

“Keith?”

Keith’s head snaps up, his eyes widening as he takes in Shiro in all his extremely underdressed glory. Shiro has half a mind to just let him ogle, it feels so nice, but he takes mercy on him, leaning down a little bit to peer into Keith’s eyes.

“I just woke up,” Keith says.

“Oh, that’s cool. Me too.”

Keith doesn’t react to the joke, doesn’t even return Shiro’s smile, too focused on shoving Shiro back into his room and slamming the door behind them

“Shiro, I am so sorry.”

“You’re what now?”

“I remember everything from last night. I made an idiot of myself. I’m so sorry.”

“You _were_ a little drunk there, huh?”

Keith makes a tiny gurgling sound, desperate and ashamed. “I didn’t wanna spill all that shit on you like that, I’m so sorry. Like, yeah of course I admire you, and of course I think you’re hot, I feel like that goes without saying, right? But to just get all...sloppy? Like that? I’m mortified, I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s get lunch.”

Keith stops short in his rambling. “What?”

“Let me take you to lunch,” Shiro repeats, reaching for Keith’s hand. “Please.”

Keith allows the touch, welcomes it even. His fingers lace with Shiro’s, eyes softening by several degrees. He looks down at his feet, a light dusting of red painting itself across his sun-browned cheeks. Shiro’s favorite shade of red. “Yeah, okay.”

The next hour rushes by in a blur as Shiro hastily gets ready, throwing on his nicest casual outfit and shoving his hair beneath a beanie. It’s nice out, and he wants to walk to wherever they go. Covering his hair gives him a bit of anonymity, which he desperately wants with Keith.

Before he knows it, he’s meeting Keith in the lobby. The other man stands nervously by a couch, rocking up on the balls of his feet in little pulses. Waves of anxiety pour off of him, so thick Shiro can almost feel it, and no. That won’t do. He slides up quietly beside Keith and settles his flesh arm across Keith’s shoulder. Keith jumps slightly, but then relaxes once he realizes it’s just Shiro.

“Are you ready?” Shiro asks gently. Keith’s wide eyes scan his face momentarily until he nods resolutely.

“Let’s do this.”

Shiro smiles and leads Keith from the lobby, toward the little cafe he spotted the day before on his way in. It’s a little thing, unobtrusive and tucked out of the way, so they hopefully won’t be bothered there. Keith smiles as they step through the front door, relaxing immediately upon seeing the place nearly empty. As they go over their menus, Shiro can’t keep himself from glancing up over the top of his occasionally, just to find Keith’s eyes looking right back at him. They laugh quietly together every time, but it still doesn’t stop it from happening.

Once their orders are placed, and they get extended time to themselves, Shiro decides to get over himself and take the plunge.

“So, you really got that drunk at a banquet?”

“Here’s a fun fact about me, Shiro: I don’t drink that often. I’m actually kind of a lightweight? Wine gets me every time.”

“Really? I’ll have to remember that,” Shiro answers with a wink, enjoying the way Keith’s cheeks go pink again just for him before he straightens up in his seat.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You don’t talk about yourself very much in interviews. I get privacy and everything, but I’ve always kind of wondered about it.”

“That’s fair.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“Sometimes, it’s easier to just let the public perception of you be the reality. Like, the idea that I’m some crazy playboy or something. That’s not entirely true. Yeah, I went through a time where I slept around a _lot,_ right? But a ton of people do, you know, and it’s not like that’s all I did. That’s not who I am _now._ ” He pauses to give Keith a significant stretch of eye contact. “That’s not what I want now.”

“Oh.” Keith’s eyelashes are so long, fluttering against his cheeks as he blinks innocently back at Shiro.

“And I don’t like to talk about my family because I lost them when I was still a kid. It’s not as hard to talk about now, but who wants to talk about the car wreck that killed their parents over and over, you know?”

Keith’s eyes widen in understanding. “Is that the reason for the”—he gestures to Shiro’s prosthetic.

“Yeah. I got it after I moved in with my grandparents. Matt’s father is the one who made it for me.”

“I guess it helps having a friend with a cybernetic genius for a father, huh?” Keith asks. His joke is full of mirth, not pity, and it’s so refreshing to have someone just accept Shiro’s reality for once instead of dragging it out with false empathy. Maybe their shared connection with the Holts is the reason it feels so comforting and familiar and softens the words, but either way, Shiro appreciates it. “But I get it. I lost my dad young, and my mom wasn’t in the picture. I went through the system for a long time until I pulled myself out of it. But I met my mom again a few years back, and all her family. My uncle is my manager now, actually.”

“Oh, the giant dude that goes with you to all your climbs?”

“Yeah,” Keith laughs. “That’s Kolivan.”

“He’s terrifying.”

“Nah, he’s a kitten. He’d like you.”

“You sure about that?” Shiro asks with a laugh.

Keith looks at him seriously, his tone turning quieter. “ _I_ like you.”

“Ah—” Shiro stutters as Keith sets a hand down on top of his own.

“He’d want me to be happy.” Fire tears across Shiro’s skin as he watches Keith’s eyes darken momentarily. “He’d support whatever choice I made.”

“Are you still hungry?”

Keith’s eyes grow ever darker. “Not entirely.”

“Great.”

Shiro waves the waitress down to ask for their order to be made to go. He hastily slaps bills down on the table once their boxes come, leaving the excessive change behind for their waitress. It doesn’t matter. He has more important things to get to. Like dragging Keith back across town without being suspicious.

Like pulling Keith into his hotel room by the collar of his shirt as they juggle their takeout boxes onto the hotel desk.

Like cradling Keith’s perfect face in his hands as he draws him forward for their first kiss.

Shiro should have expected things to turn out this way. After all of his fantasizing, he should have known that the reality would be so much better, so much more visceral and full of feeling. It’s much too soon to voice it, but as he watches Keith unfurl beneath him like a cat, muscles and sinew relaxing into every touch of Shiro’s hands, his feelings tip way closer to love than he’s ever been. It bubbles up in his gut, peaking and crashing each time his mouth makes contact with Keith’s flushed skin.

As Keith stretches long and lean beneath Shiro’s lips, he feels his heart expand with every charged kiss they share.

Keith is soft beneath his touch in a way that his imagination could never get right. Sure, he's a man with all the qualities that usually accompany the designation. His leg hair is coarse, his sweat musky and sharp. But his movements are fluid, his touch is soft, his skin is warm. He's so unlike any other man Shiro has had in his bed. He _fits_ there perfectly, a neat space carved out just for him.

When Shiro sinks a lubed finger into him, he shudders and moans like a lover welcoming Shiro home. And maybe he is, after all.

His eyes are big and bright when Shiro adds another finger and then another. His lips part in a shaky sigh when Shiro licks a hot trail up his chest. His fingers are sure when he wraps them around the sides of Shiro's neck to draw him in for a hot kiss the moment Shiro slides home with a whisper of his name.

It's revelatory, the way he moves in response to Shiro's every touch, every kiss, every thrust.

Their skin slides and smacks together as their movement crescendos frantically, pushing them ever forward, tumbling gracelessly toward their completion.

Keith hooks an ankle around Shiro's leg and flips them fluidly, seating himself in Shiro's lap with heated eyes. He slips Shiro back inside himself and settles both palms down on his chest, leaning forward to kiss him deeply as he picks himself up and drops back down.

“I wanna watch you come, Takashi.”

And Shiro is lost. He's done for. A goner.

Keith rides him mercilessly, the same intense focus written across his beautiful face as any other time he faces a challenge he wants to conquer.

Shiro was well and truly conquered long ago.

Keith drops down in his lap and _grinds,_ taking himself in his hand.

“C’mon, Takashi. Let me have it, sweetheart.”

In the end, that's what does it. The nickname hits Shiro directly in the heart, sending him surging upright and smacking Keith's hand out of the way so he can do the job himself. He kisses Keith with all the feeling housed in his body, thrusting upward harshly until, finally, Keith gasps sweetly into his mouth and comes. He tightens around Shiro beautifully, and Shiro plummets over the edge after him, filling him with liquid heat.

It's raw, and maybe more emotional than a first time should be, but as Shiro leans forward to rest his forehead against Keith's chest, as Keith drapes shaking arms around Shiro's shoulders to draw him in ever closer and mouth kisses into the crown of his head, he finds himself thinking it was just right.

They flop down and lay there together, panting in the aftermath. Shiro tugs Keith closer, drawing him in until he slots perfectly into the space between Shiro’s arm and his body. Keith sighs and kisses Shiro’s chest absentmindedly, as if it’s something they’ve always done and something they’ll continue to do forever.

“Please don’t disappear on me. I don’t think I could handle it.”

He doesn’t mean to let the words slip out, but they force themselves into the open, a thought demanding immediate attention whether he gives it permission to be seen or not. Keith sits up abruptly, leaning over Shiro on one hand. His eyes are sharp but attentive, softer than Shiro has ever seen them as he leans down to hover immediately over Shiro’s face.

Their noses brush softly, a gesture of intimacy and affection Shiro can barely take.

“You’ll never get rid of me now,” Keith murmurs against his lips. It’s a serious admission, a huge one, and Shiro knows they can both feel it on the air. The buzz of it is palpable across Shiro’s skin, only growing sharper as he tugs Keith back down into the sheets. It spreads out into something warmer and pliant as Shiro flips their bodies over, splaying Keith across the silken sheets of his hotel bed. It crests and sharpens as Shiro skates his hands out and over every inch of skin he can find. It peaks and solidifies with every beautiful noise that spills from kiss-swollen lips as they waste a few more hours of the day.

It’s love, and Shiro knows he’s never letting it go.

 

+++

 

Pidge looks extremely smug as Shiro leads Keith into the award hall and toward Team Voltron’s assigned seats by the waist. Keith is soft and warm beneath his touch, moving with a relaxed languidity, allowing himself to be led without protest.

Allura arches a brow at Shiro, but says nothing.

Hunk and Lance share a look, and Shiro pretends not to notice as Hunk slips Lance a twenty. That’s something he’ll need to address later, but he’s feeling charitable currently. Once they find their seats, Keith nudges Shiro in the shoulder.

“I’m going to find the bathroom now that I know where we’re sitting. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Shiro says with a smile, watching him as he goes.

“God, you two are disgusting,” Pidge says.

“Yeah,” Shiro answers, full of fondness, still looking at the door Keith retreated from.

“Can you at least wipe up your drool?”

“Nah.”

“Fair enough.”

Hunk asks for details, which Shiro effectively sidesteps, and they all sink into easy chatter while they wait for the award show to begin. Time slips by, and before he knows it, fifteen minutes have passed. Keith still isn’t back, and yeah, he’s a grown ass man, but Shiro also just managed to get his hooks in him, so he’s feeling a little clingy.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick, guys. Make sure Keith is okay.”

“You know, I think it’s a good idea if we all go before this thing starts. You know how long these shows tend to go on,” Allura pipes up.

“That’s a good idea,” Hunk agrees, and everyone gets up to head out with Shiro.

They’ve barely stepped a few feet into the hall before they find Keith, leaning against a wall with his arms angrily crossed, stewing as a sharply dressed Rolo talks aggressively in his general direction.

“Everyone knows he’s on his way out, Keith. It’s only going to get easier for the rest of us to top whatever he has.” It’s an insult and a plea all wrapped up in one. Ever since the first time they spoke, Rolo has been chasing Keith. Whether it’s to use him against Shiro or for his own attraction is a mystery, but the fact remains. “You deserve so much better than he can give you.”

Still, Keith has never been one to back down from a fight, it seems. Especially when pride is on the line. Keith looks down the hall to where Shiro stands, almost as if he could feel his presence from the start. His eyes narrow at Rolo as the man continues ranting.

He simply ignores his words and flinging hands and marches over to Shiro, grabs him by the front of the shirt, and hauls him down for a kiss in front of the team, every sports reporter known to man, and God himself. Shiro’s brain shuts down with the intensity of it. It’s pure hunger, hot and wet, all clacking teeth and mashed noses. He loses himself in the sensation of Keith’s soft lips pressed against his, a hand instinctively raising to twine itself in luscious, dark hair.

Keith looks as composed as ever when he pulls away to rest their foreheads together. There’s a predatory gleam in his eye, a challenge that Shiro just knows is going to kill him. Keith’s eyes slide to Rolo, gaping openly at them.

“Top that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived muscley ever after.
> 
> thank you all so much for going along on this ride with me! i had such a good time trying something new with posting styles and working with the team i had. i'm so grateful for anyone who stuck around to read and give me such kind words and encouragement. i hope to see you again soon on my next project!
> 
> feel free to come see me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_tootsonnewts), i'd love to say hi!  
> <333!


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